Unexpected Grace
by cocoa-snape
Summary: Snape’s dark mark is returning & his fate is as uncertain as his complex relationship with Dumbledore who offers tea, laughter & Occlumency lessons. Will Snape’s nearly fatal return to Vol in GoF push these two apart or pull them together? ADSS Pre SLASH
1. Even then

**Title: **Unexpected Grace  
**Author:** Cocoa-Snape  
**Disclaimer: **I own nothing. Harry Potter belongs exclusively to JKR...she is a goddess. I am making no money from this.

**Summary:** Snape's dark mark is returning and he ponders his uncertain fate and reflects on past choices. Over tea, Dumbledore offers him counsel, support and even Occlumency lessons as each man suffers silently in their own guilt - Snape for his past actions, Dumbledore for having to ask his Potions Master and friend to return as his spy. Will Snape's nearly fatal return to Voldemort push these two apart or pull them together?

**Warning:** This is a **Pre-SLASH **story. It focuses on the uncertain and as of yet unrequited feelings between Severus Snape and Albus Dumbledore. If the concept of non-platonic love between these two men disturbs you, don't read. (For strictly paternal love between these two, see my other story). Please no flames.

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**Unexpected Grace by Cocoa-Snape  
Chapter 1: Even then...**

As Severus Snape began the contemptible chore of grading a week's worth of Potions essays, he marveled at how complicated his life was. True enough, for the past thirteen years, it had been fairly stable and seemingly straightforward. He taught, or at least tried to teach, young brats of varying degrees of stupidity the fine art of Potions and spent nearly all of his free time engaging in research in his field – which he considered to be the most intellectually demanding, rigorously scientific and yet artistically creative area in all of Magic.

Severus Snape was truly a virtuoso when it came to Potions – a fact that had been his salvation and his undoing. As the youngest known wizard to gain Masters status in the field, he had proven himself a true scholar and had been labeled as perhaps the next great pioneer in this ever-burgeoning art. However, his early successes had also served to attract the attentions of a wizard who hoped to employ, and ultimately exploit his skills. And the then vulnerable young Snape was all too easily swayed by Lord Voldemort's words of admiration and grandiose if deceptive promises of power, justice and perhaps more importantly, acceptance.

And for the past thirteen years, Snape had, for the most part, been divested of that grave mistake. Of course it never truly left him – nearly everywhere he went there were always some people that would look at him with a mixture of terror and disgust. More significantly, however, he had always carried – would always carry – his most grievous trespass with him in his own mind. But now, he was burdened anew with that fact that he would have to carry it, once more, on his arm – a constant physical reminder of his sins. Slowly but steadily over the past few months, the Dark Mark that bound him to the Voldemort's servitude for the rest of his life was returning. And there could be no doubt as to its meaning.

No, Snape mused, his life was not treating him very well at the moment. Aside from the usual stresses of the school year, he had a deranged Auror watching him night and day and an all but equally deranged Death Eater, his former colleague, stalking him. Igor Karkaroff's visits were becoming more and more frequent – he demanded to speak with him at the most inopportune times, and had even taken to interrupting his classes. And what for? What could he do for him? Snape recognized that he was as helpless, and secretly as concerned as this terrified man was.

Snape was startled out of his thoughts by a soft whooshing noise that he recognized as the sound of something coming through his floo. He looked up to see a golden piece of crisply folded paper floating deftly towards his hands. He felt his heart warm slightly at the sight of it. What was it exactly about these notes that made him feel this way? Perhaps, he told himself, it was the certainty of their arrival that pleased him – a small bit of constancy in what was now a life in upheaval.

Snape wondered again, for what must have been the tenth time that day, what would happen to his life if the Dark Lord returned to power. Would he be killed out right? Or would it be a slow agonizing death? The alternative possibility, survival, seemed almost too impossible to consider at times. One thing he knew for certain, however, was that he wasn't going to run or hide the way he was sure Karkaroff would. No, Severus Snape was not a coward, and he would face his fate – whatever it was. And if there was a chance, however miniscule, that he might be accepted back into Voldemort's circle, he had to take it – he knew he owed Albus at least that much, if not a great deal more.

Looking back at the gold note now in his hands, he almost laughed aloud. Things were not good, his life was going to hell – and yet he was still able to find bizarre satisfaction from these invitations that arrived semi-randomly, although these days with greater frequency. As he opened it, he wondered why he even bothered – after all, they always said the same thing. Still, he derived some curious pleasure in reading them each time.

'Tea?' the note said simply in distinctive narrow, exceptionally neat handwriting.

Snape could barely suppress an amused grin. He remembered when thirteen years ago, the notes had been much more formal, and had said something like: 'Severus, would you care to join me for some tea and noshing in my study this evening? There is no need to reply. Come if you can. Albus Dumbledore.' Over time, they had gradually shortened to the now all too familiar invitation he held in his hands.

Snape pondered how it was that these outings had morphed from an insufferable chore to something else altogether. Initially, he was sure that they had been Dumbledore's way of controlling his most valuable weapon, his spy. But after the war had ended, and their meetings had continued, Snape assumed that they had become the Headmaster's way of keeping a close eye and a narrow reign on his newest teacher, his 'reformed' Death Eater. Or so Snape had told himself. But over the years, even as insecure as he remained about his ambiguous relationship with the elder wizard, he was certain that these invitations had become something more. The two had gradually developed a strong friendship, if yet tentative on Snape's part, that was precipitated in large part by these golden notes. Notes that now anchored him in the midst of what was happening, for what was to come.

Dumbledore, after all, was the only person with whom Snape could speak freely regarding the fate signified by his Dark Mark, and there was a measured comfort in that. Albus at least had the decency to look at him as he always had done, and not as though he were about to meet his death the very next moment. One could not say the same thing about Minerva McGonagall. By virtue of her position as Deputy Headmistress, Snape had supposed that Minerva knew some of the details of his Mark returning, although he wasn't sure exactly how much she knew and he had certainly never intended to speak with her about it. Nonetheless, this woman whom he counted as one of his few friends was clearly concerned about him – it was more than evident on her normally strict face.

Yesterday at dinner, in fact, she kept casting worried glances at him, and repeatedly insisted that he eat more. Having spent the better part of the day dwelling on his own doom, her transparent anxiety over his predicament frustrated him to the point of anger, and he had lashed out at her, almost spitting, "I don't think it will matter, Minerva, if I am well fed when I meet the Dark Lord, do you?" Fortunately, he had had the presence of mind to keep his voice down, and as such only McGonagall, Dumbledore and Flitwick were privy to his comment. He apologized almost immediately for his indiscretion, first to Minerva and then to Albus, and made the excuse of being tired before promptly leaving the table.

And now he had received an invitation to tea – perhaps to censure him for his remark, perhaps to gauge his mental preparedness, perhaps to console him in the face of what was to come, or perhaps, knowing Albus, to sample his newest dessert infatuation. Snape noted the time and realized that he had far too many Potions essays to grade in addition to a research project that he had hoped to finish tonight. But, he mused, he could put it all off till tomorrow – let the brats wait, he told himself. Snape could count on one hand the number of times he had not accepted Albus's invitation to tea. Of course he would go, he always did.

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Snape uttered the password to the Headmaster's personal quarters and stepped onto the moving spiral staircase, allowing it to lift him to the office. He knocked sharply on the heavy oak door at the top landing and waited for a reply. Staring intently at the worn wood, his mind returned to the moment, nearly 17 years ago, when he had stood on this landing and was not quite so polite.

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It was his last day at Hogwarts. Severus Snape cursed aloud as he unfolded the gold piece of parchment and read the Headmaster's words summoning him to his office. Despite his anger, he satisfied himself with the knowledge that tomorrow he would leave this infernal place and never have to return. He had played the Headmaster's twisted game – followed his ridiculous rules and for the most part, treated him and the faculty with polite deference, even as the Headmaster blatantly mocked him by openly favoring nearly all others over him. But now he was a full-fledged wizard, and finally free to do and say what he wanted. And soon, he told himself, he would be more than that – he would formally become a servant to the greatest wizard who ever lived – and he would be important, and he would command the respect that was owed him. Finally.

Spitting the password at the stone gargoyle, he took the spiral steps 3 at a time, his anger building as he thought of the audacity that the Headmaster had to summon him here now. He burst through the door without the courtesy of knocking. Dumbledore deserved nothing better after all.

The Headmaster was standing in the middle of his office, apparently waiting for him. His face betrayed no surprise at Snape's entrance. "Ah, do come in, Mr. Snape. Make yourself comfortable."

"What do you want old man? It's 5 o'clock. The term's officially over. I don't have to answer to you anymore," Snape spat.

Dumbledore's eyes narrowed slightly and he spoke with absolute calm, "And yet…you came. Why do you suppose that is?"

Snape stood dumbfounded at Dumbledore's words, which had clearly unsettled him. "I…I…" he began, unsure of what to say.

"Perhaps," the Headmaster continued, "it is because you know that _He_ does not possess the answer to your problems, or the antidote to your pain."

Dumbledore's eyes were fixed unwaveringly on the young man, carefully studying him and his reactions. Many years later Snape would come to know that Dumbledore had not been sure about his association with Voldemort – it had been a calculated guess, one that he had hoped would prove incorrect. Unfortunately, it was not.

The young wizard was astonished by the Headmaster's gall – openly admitting that he knew, and daring to speak of the Dark Lord so casually. He wanted to scream at Dumbledore, to tell him that yes, he was going to give himself to the Dark Lord, to tell him that he was finally respected and valued, to tell him that he would do anything for _him_ – that he was _his _now. But somehow those were not the words that left his mouth; instead he spoke almost fearfully, "I…I don't know what you're talking about."

"Stop playing games, Mr. Snape," Dumbledore intoned, much more forcefully now.

Snape stared at his former Headmaster defiantly.

"Tell me what he's promised you," Dumbledore demanded.

Anger flared once more in the young man, "Why? Can't you read my mind?" he asked in a sharp mocking tone.

A smallest of smiles crept onto the corners of the older wizard's lips and barely a beat later, he asked almost tenderly, "Would you like me to?"

Silence.

"I want to help you, Mr. Snape," Dumbledore added seriously.

"Help me? You arrogant bastard – you didn't help me before! What makes you think I want your help now?" Snape snarled, overwhelmed by rage.

"Whatever hold he has over you, I can assure you it's not real." A short pause passed between them, and then Dumbledore added gravely, a profound sadness entering his eyes, "Although you will not believe me, I never intended to hurt you. But I see now that I have failed you deeply, my child. And for that I am truly sorry."

"Your words are meaningless to me, old man. And I don't want your fucking worthless apologies. I want nothing more to do with you – ever!"

Snape turned on his heels to make his way out, but he was immediately arrested by Dumbledore's voice, uttering his given name. As he halted his exit, a surge of hatred flooded over him. How he hated this man – hated his platitudes, hated his twinkling facade, hated his soft hypocritical words, and most of all, hated the power he had over him – even now. His back remained to the older wizard.

"Severus, I need you to listen to me. Carefully hear my words – they may be of no use to you now, but perhaps some day they will reach you. Hogwarts will always be your home, Severus, should you choose to return. And I will be here, waiting for you, when you do."

Snape turned around and fiercely met those blue depths with his own eyes. He wanted to show Dumbledore what he thought of him and his offer of 'home.' He spat at the ground, directly at the Headmaster's feet and swiftly swept out of his office.

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"Severus?" A gentle voice interrupted.

"What?" Snape asked, snapping himself out of his memory.

"Severus, come in. You're standing in the doorway."

"Oh."

"You seemed lost for a moment there, my boy."

Snape stepped inside and stopped in the middle of Dumbledore's office. Normally when he came to tea, he would head straight for the sitting room, and Dumbledore knew immediately that something was bothering his Potions Master. He waited patiently for Severus to speak.

"I suppose you want to discuss my comment at dinner yesterday," Snape said, unable to mask the irritation in his voice.

"I had no such agenda in mind, Severus. You are understandably stressed and I don't believe further conversation is necessary," Dumbledore said kindly, and then added, "Unless there is something you'd like to discuss."

"No."

"Well then, let's go into the sitting room and…" Dumbledore began, paused a second and added, "Ah, it seems Minerva is here to see me."

And a moment later there was a sharp knock on the door, which Dumbledore prompted opened.

"Severus," McGonagall said, acknowledging him with a nod, and then began, "Headmaster, I'm sorry to interrupt, but your presence is required in the South Tower immediately. Peeves is on a rampage and Mr. Filch insists only you can handle it. That ruddy poltergeist will be the death of me, Albus! Why can't you expel him?"

"That would be rude, my dear," Dumbledore said, chuckling at her annoyance. "Severus, I'll just be a bit. Make yourself comfortable."

But long after Dumbledore left, Snape remained standing, staring intently at the Headmaster's desk. Once again, his mind seemed to be somewhere else. He huffed mentally at his frequent day dreaming of late. He wondered if perhaps this was something akin to a person's life flashing before their eyes moments before their death. His death may not have been momentarily imminent, but he had nonetheless taken to reexamination of late. And, in many ways, his fate was worse – waiting for the Dark Lord's return, not knowing when or how it would come. He had long ago given up hope that he would be spared the torment of this second war, which forced his return to that sadist's servitude.

And now, standing here in this office for what must have been at least the thousandth time, the only thing Snape could think about was one particular night, 14 years ago, when he had stood in this very spot and changed his fate. It was odd really. He didn't remember many of the specifics clearly and he had deliberately not chosen to examine the memory in the pensieve. He didn't remember, for example, how he had gotten inside the Headmaster's office, although he was told later that McGonagall had found and escorted him inside.

Perhaps the strangest thing he did not remember was what had prompted him to go to Hogwarts – to Dumbledore – _that _night. Why hadn't he gone home as he normally did after such 'revels?' There had been no threat to his safety or well-being; this hadn't been one of those times where he returned injured, in horrible agony from repeated rounds of _Crucio_. On the contrary, those were the times he felt good, deriving some small measure of comfort from his pain.

On that night, he had watched his Master and loyal Death Eaters inflict much more horrific tortures on innocents. It wasn't the first time, and he knew it certainly would not be the last – they enjoyed their depraved games too much. Fortunately, as the Dark Lord's Potions Master, he had some leeway and was rarely compelled to participate, although his attendance was expected. He had never developed a taste for these Death-Eater 'get-togethers,' as they had assured him he would. But he did not delude himself into thinking that that made him any better than the rest of them. He was, after all, responsible for many deaths, many more perhaps than the others – he did not know precisely, but given the Potions he had created, he could only imagine.

He left the revel weak and exhausted, physically and mentally, having not eaten or slept in an inordinately long amount of time. Yet instead of going home, he had ended up on the Headmaster's doorstep. Once again, he wondered if that had been a conscious decision or not.

One thing he remembered with bizarre clarity of mind was the look of surprise on Dumbledore's face when he entered his office. He could tell that it took the older wizard a long moment to recognize him. He was aware his appearance had changed in the past three years – normally thin, he was almost emaciated now, with a curtain of unkempt greasy hair covering his gaunt face with hollow cheeks and sunken eyes. He could see Dumbledore's surprise rapidly shift into concern as the Headmaster noticed how unsteady he was on his feet and that his dark robes were stained with blood. But he had immediately dismissed the older wizard's concern.

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"I'm fine," the young man said.

"You're obviously hurt, Mr. Snape."

"No," Snape said slowly and meaningfully, "I'm not."

And then came the dawning realization that the blood covering the young man in front of him was not his own.

"I see," Dumbledore said. He had spoken in such a cold voice, as only Dumbledore could. It hurt, even to this day, to remember it.

Snape wanted to explain so badly. He began abruptly with wide eyes, "I didn't…" but immediately stopped himself, bowing his head. He reminded himself that he wasn't the victim here. It didn't matter that he hadn't actually done the killing or participated in the torture – or that he hated having to be there, or that it was tearing him up inside.

"I was there, but…" he started again, but closed his eyes and inhaled deeply. "It doesn't matter…"

The words came out wrong, but somehow it didn't matter in that moment. He didn't deserve mercy anyway. Determined to quash any ambiguity about his guilt, Snape forcefully pulled up the sleeve of his robe, revealing that ugly black mark on his pale flesh before rapidly covering it again.

Dumbledore closed his eyes in sadness, but opened them moments later in anger.

"Why are you here, Mr. Snape?" he intoned forcefully.

Snape told the Headmaster that he had come to warn him about the threat to the Potters and explained in detail that Voldemort had decided that they, and not the Longbottoms, were the subject of the Prophecy.

The younger man sat uncomfortably as those sharp blue eyes seemed to probe him, verifying the validity of his statements. He knew the Headmaster was carefully digesting the information he had given him, although his face remained blank.

"That was not my question," Dumbledore began anew, "Surely you had that information before tonight. My question to you was, why are you here _now_?"

Snape wondered if this was a test, if his fate lay in his answer.

"I don't know," Snape murmured.

A long silence passed between them. Dumbledore eyed the young man intently, as if waiting for something more, a better answer perhaps.

Almost in a panic, Snape felt the need to explain, and he spoke in a rush of words that he could not quite string together. "You don't know the things he does…the way he…you don't know…"

"I do know, Mr. Snape," Dumbledore replied gravely.

Snape felt his insides twist and wrench even more at those words. The idea that this man had some insight into the horrors he'd witnessed, horrors he'd _committed_, was almost too much to bear.

And suddenly, Snape reached into his robes to retrieve his wand, in an act of strange stupidity. For if Dumbledore had been an Auror, he would have surely killed him right then and there. Years later, when he thought back on that moment he almost laughed when he remembered that Dumbledore hadn't moved a muscle – that even his eyes had remained calm as he had pulled his wand from his robes and handed it gingerly to the older wizard.

But as Dumbledore nonchalantly took his wand from him, he was visibly startled by the Headmaster's casual attitude and wondered if the powerful Legilimens had simply read his thoughts, or if he was so certain of his prowess, his invincibility over him. Years later, he still did not know the answer.

"Why are you here, Mr. Snape?" Dumbledore asked again.

Snape looked down at his feet, studying them for a long moment before looking up and meeting Dumbledore's eyes directly for the first time that night.

He whispered almost hesitantly, embarrassed by the truth, "I…I…didn't know where else to go," he admitted, thinking back on the Headmaster's words the last time he had been in this office.

Those blue eyes continued to study him carefully, examining every detail of his face and eyes. He had never felt so bared open before – not even with the Dark Lord. He waited anxiously for the man's next words.

"Tell me, Severus. Tell me everything," Dumbledore said with gentle authority.

It was as though Dumbledore's words had released him from an unspoken oath of silence, had fueled him to bare his soul to this man. And Severus did. Over the next few hours, it all came spilling out of him, without any further prodding. He began with his confession, of how and why he had been tempted by Voldemort in the first place, and how after about a year out of Hogwarts he had taken the Mark. Then Snape gave an overview of his involvement as a Death Eater, which consisted mainly of illicit potion making for the Dark Lord. He vehemently insisted that he had been completely unaware of the unspeakably violent and sadistic acts Voldemort and his followers routinely committed before he pledged himself to the madman.

The confession, which had been flowing so freely from the young man, so matter-of-factly it was as though he were reciting a fictional narrative, abruptly became rough and full of incessant stammers. Dumbledore was keenly aware of Snape's profound discomfort, and took careful note of his suddenly labored breathing, his white-knuckled grip on the arms of his chair and the rather pale hue of his face. Hesitantly, Snape detailed his minimal involvement in these more appalling affairs. Midway through describing one of the few times he had been 'forced' to participate in such a session, the young man stopped suddenly, threw his head over the side of his chair and began retching uncontrollably, hyperventilating wildly between his bouts of sickness as he tried to catch a breath. Once the younger wizard had regained his composure, he barely had time to apologize for the mess before Dumbledore cleaned it up with a wave of his hand.

Righting himself in the chair once more, Snape started up again, faltering significantly as he concluded his rather unsettling account. He continued by giving the names of all the Death Eaters he had come into contact with or heard of and the details of their positions within Voldemort's circle. He finished by detailing everything he knew – however limited it was – about the Dark Lord's plans. Dumbledore asked few questions, seeming to prefer (at least for the time being) to let the younger man lead his own confession.

After it was over, Snape begged the Headmaster for a mercy he was sure he did not deserve, a quick death at his hands instead of by the Dementors. Snape remembered Dumbledore saying he would not grant his wish just before he passed out in the chair from sheer exhaustion.

The next morning Dumbledore had greeted him with a proposal, and however terrified he was at the prospect of Voldemort finding out, he had accepted and became the Order's spy. The first step had been convincing the Dark Lord to have him apply for the Potions position at Hogwarts so that he might serve to spy on the Headmaster. Shortly thereafter, Snape began lessons with the elder wizard, training his mind in Occlumency, which, as Dumbledore had said, he was already using unconsciously, insisting that he possessed a rare innate ability in this obscure magical art.

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And it had all gone according to plan. Voldemort had been defeated and he had been spared. Would he be spared this time, he wondered – or was this time the end?

Snape made his way into Dumbledore's sitting room and sat down on the familiar couch, waiting for Albus to return from his errand with Minerva. He remembered waking here, on this very couch, 14 years ago, after his confession.

He had been vaguely aware that his sticky, blood-soaked robes had been removed and that he was dressed in a nightshirt, tucked under layers of blankets, cocooned in heavenly warmth. He had opened his eyes just enough to become dimly aware of a tall figure sitting in the dark in a plush armchair directly across from him. If he had taken a closer look that night, he would have seen the Headmaster's scrutinizing stare and his face deep in thought – no doubt thinking up the plan that had saved not only his life, but also his soul.

Instead, he had closed his eyes, and slept better than he had in years. He did not wonder then – although he would later – why he felt so comfortable in these quarters in which he had just delivered a confession that assured him the Dementor's kiss. He did not wonder why it was that he felt so safe under the watchful eye and powerful presence of his sworn Master's greatest enemy.

If he had, he certainly would not have known the answer. At least not yet. That answer would take some time to come.

'_But still it had been there…even then_,' Snape thought, while running his fingers over the red fabric of the now well-worn couch.

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**A/N:** Please review. I hope you enjoyed this beginning. I am looking forward to your comments on this new idea of mine. I realize that this is a bit flashback heavy and therefore lighter on dialogue than I usually like to write but I wanted a more reflective tone in this beginning.

So unlike my other story, updates on this one will be significantly slower because this is the only chapter I've written so far and I really want to finish 'Light on the dark side of me' soon. So I recommend that if you liked this and want to continue reading (please do!), that you sign up for a story alert email so that you will be alerted when I post a new chapter. I thank you for your patience.

Thanks to Kelei for agreeing to beta this chapter for me even though she doesn't like AD (sad sigh).

Please review...


	2. Not ever again

**Title: **Unexpected Grace  
**Author:** Cocoa-Snape  
**Disclaimer: **I own nothing. Harry Potter belongs exclusively to JKR...she is a goddess. I am making no money from this.

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**Unexpected Grace by Cocoa-Snape  
Chapter 2: Not ever again...**

Severus Snape remembered the summer he had arrived at Hogwarts to take over the Potions position all too well. Although he wasn't too keen on taking the job, he recognized that he had no choice – Dumbledore had offered it to him as his way out and once introduced subtly to the idea, Voldemort had ordered him to accept, believing the idea to be his own. But as it turned out, Snape soon found that returning to Hogwarts was not the burden he thought it would be, but a welcome relief, as the Dark Lord was no longer able to demand his presence at whim. With the excuse that Dumbledore would grow suspicious if he left the grounds too often, Snape was no longer required to attend the Death Eater revels. And despite the dangers he faced as a double-agent, he found that he was able to sleep for the first time in years given this reprieve.

The Dark Lord did not seem to mind Snape's absence, however. After all, Snape was assigned a much more important task than making deadly potions and attending revels, that of growing close to his greatest enemy. Had that been his real mission, Snape reflected, it would have been all too easy. Dumbledore asked him to tea entirely too often for Snape's taste, and both the tea and Dumbledore's kindness had nauseated him at first. Snape was suspicious of everything the elder wizard did, even the way he had tried to convince him to change his selection of rooms. Snape was happy with the dungeons. He had requested them because he knew that they could be most easily warded, possessing only a single entrance since they were below ground. It was ridiculous really, given the strength of Hogwarts' wards. But Snape had come to cherish the privacy that the dungeons afforded. No one ever stumbled into his rooms by accident, or on purpose for that matter.

Dumbledore, however, evidently thought the dungeons were too isolated. _'There are some spare rooms in the West Tower you might like, Severus. They have an excellent view of the lake,'_ Dumbledore had remarked kindly. Thinking about the proximity of the West Tower to Dumbledore's own quarters, Snape shot back cruelly, _'Why? So you can watch me, old man?' _Despite the fact that he had thought his accusation true at the time, the remark sounded so horribly crude that he hated himself immediately for speaking it. The words left a bitter taste in his mouth and he felt his chest tighten when he spotted the sadness in Dumbledore's eyes, who replied simply, with no trace of malice, _'I was merely making a suggestion, Severus. You may chose your quarters as you see fit.'_

The summer and the initial few months of his first term as a Professor were, to put it mildly, chaotic. He was arrested three different times in Death Eater raids and Alastor Moody had very reluctantly released him upon Dumbledore's insistence that he was indeed a spy for the Order of the Phoenix. After Voldemort's unexpected defeat, Moody had come calling almost immediately for his arrest. Dumbledore had staunchly refused, and soon thereafter, Fudge himself was on his doorstep, citing regulations and 'proper procedure.'

Snape heard Dumbledore arguing with Fudge on many an occasion over the days that followed. The snippets of conversation he overheard left him stunned as to Dumbledore's unwavering faith in him. But Fudge was not to be dissuaded and told Dumbledore in no uncertain terms that he would be arriving with Aurors the next day to take him to Azkaban until he stood trial. Snape prepared himself mentally for what was to come, realizing that he would likely be in Azkaban for months. Trials were slow affairs after all, and in all likelihood his would be delayed significantly in order to give the zealous Ministry Aurors extra time to interrogate him.

Very late that same night, Dumbledore invited him up for tea, apparently to deliver the news. Snape had been surprised when the Headmaster greeted him with a smile and said simply, _'I have very good news, Severus. I have managed to convince Fudge to have you remanded to my custody until your trial. And you need not worry about the trial – it is only a formality.'_ At the time, he was too relieved to wonder very much about how Dumbledore had managed it. And once again, Dumbledore had been right about his trial. Of course Moody had wanted to throw the book at him, but once the Headmaster stood up and explained everything all too eloquently, the charges against him were promptly dismissed.

Thinking back on it now, Snape couldn't remember precisely when the last bits of resentment he held for the Headmaster melted away that first year. But each time one of his cold and on occasion spiteful remarks to Dumbledore was returned only with kindness, he felt the man's words soften his hardened heart just a little. And each time he was asked to tea in Dumbledore's welcoming rooms, he felt himself warm, if only slightly, to the invitations, to the faithful appearance of those golden notes.

And now sitting here in Dumbledore's quarters, Snape found it ironic that he preferred to have tea with Dumbledore here. His dungeons, after all, did not at all resemble the Headmaster's choice of decor. He had not always felt the comfort that now possessed him. He had hated these rooms before – the resplendent colors, the ornate decorations, the innumerable knickknacks. But somehow it didn't bother him anymore. The sitting room in particular, draped in red curtains and the all too familiar red embroidered couch, had become almost a sanctuary to Snape. It was everything Albus; bright and warm as only he could make it. Snape had only to step inside to feel calmer.

Now Snape wondered how the teatime ritual with the Headmaster would change. Would it resume their previous pattern of 14 years ago? No more pleasantries; just the matter-of-fact delivery of information and hurried stress-filled conversations. Snape had barely left his dungeons in those days. Of course Dumbledore had always tried to lure him out of his self-induced hiding, but at the time he had preferred to be left to himself. This time, however, he knew it would be lonely. There were things that he would undoubtedly see, things that were irrelevant to the Order, that he would not, could not tell Albus. Snape wondered momentarily if Dumbledore would know – if he would be able to hide these things from him as well as he had once done. Huffing silently to himself, Snape knew the thought was ridiculous. In many ways, Dumbledore knew him better than he knew himself and he felt, at times, that the man could see right through him. And Snape realized sadly, that that likely meant he would have to distance himself from the Headmaster.

Snape's thoughts were interrupted by the sound of Dumbledore's office door swinging open. The Headmaster strolled inside, making his way into the sitting room to join him. Normally Snape would have asked about the damage to the South Tower and agreed with Minerva's and Filch's demands to expel Peeves. But that all seemed highly unimportant to him at the moment and he said nothing. And Dumbledore, perhaps sensing Snape's mood, offered no information either.

"I see you were lost in thought again, my boy," Dumbledore said softly.

"Hmm."

"May I ask what about?"

"The past," Snape said simply.

"Ahhh," replied Dumbledore, indicating that Snape's words served as a sufficient answer to his inquiry.

The pair sat in silence for a long time, drinking their tea and munching on biscuits. The fact that neither felt even slightly uncomfortable by this lengthy quiet was a testament to the nature of their friendship. It was odd really how their meetings of late seemed to be filled with either urgent conversations or stark silence.

As Dumbledore sipped his tea, he studied his Potions Master intently. He mused that Severus was becoming increasingly difficult to talk to as the year wore on. Granted, Severus Snape had never been an easy man to talk to. But it seemed that in the past couple of months he had become exceptionally closed. Unlike some, Dumbledore knew that Snape was not a cold, unfeeling man. Dumbledore understood and respected his need for privacy. Introversion was a part of Snape's unique personality, and Dumbledore took absurd pride in the fact that despite Severus's misanthropy, the two had formed a strong and meaningful friendship.

Dumbledore remembered all too well how hard he had struggled to connect with the then young man. When Severus first came to teach at Hogwarts as part of their arrangement, his emotions all but radiated off of him. Where the world saw an impassive face, Dumbledore was keenly aware of Severus's anger and bitterness, and he watched as those emotions (once directed outward) slowly turned inward. And at the time, he had thought that was a good thing, a positive step towards repentance and acceptance.

But as these emotions turned rather rapidly into self-loathing and left Severus despondent and even more isolated, Dumbledore had attempted to draw him out with frequent invitations to tea. Even though he supposed these invitations had been a nuisance to Severus at the time, a tentative friendship was soon forged between the pair, with Dumbledore slowly gaining some measure of the young man's trust. Dumbledore chuckled to himself, remembering how disastrous those first meetings were, for Snape, he had soon learned, loathed tea. He hardly ever drank the proffered beverage, taking a sip or two at most on the pretense of politeness. So much, even that, had changed over the years.

For his part, Dumbledore always looked forward to having tea with Severus. Whereas he supposed Severus relished their intellectual discussions the most, a welcome break from those 'obtuse little morons' as he liked to call them, Dumbledore enjoyed being able to have relaxed conversations that didn't revolve around business. Of course, given the difficult times that lie ahead, they had had very serious topics to discuss of late, and so even their teatime had become burdened with agenda. And Dumbledore wondered idly if it would always be that way. Would his own laughter at Severus's dry humor – which he felt was wholly underrated – be permanently replaced with tense whispers and frustrated sighs? With that thought too unbearable to consider, Dumbledore remembered how he had very nearly lost his Potions Master only a few short months after he had started at Hogwarts.

After Voldemort's defeat, Dumbledore had expected (and hoped) some sense of normalcy to enter Severus's life for perhaps the very first time. After his trial, which was over and done with almost immediately after Voldemort's defeat, he remembered Severus marching into his office to see him the very next day.

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"Headmaster, I've come to offer you my resignation," Snape said simply.

_Offer_, Dumbledore noted, _not give_.

"I see," Dumbledore replied thoughtfully.

Snape appeared to be struggling with what to say next. Thinking back on it now, it was only too obvious that the young man felt Dumbledore's recent assistance as a burden, a favor he knew not how to return.

Inexperienced in the art of graciousness, Snape said, "I didn't expect things to end this way."

It was a cryptic thank you and Dumbledore recognized it as such. "How did you expect them to end, Severus?"

Snape shrugged and said, "Me dead or in Azkaban…after my usefulness was gone."

"Do you think so little of my word, Severus?" Dumbledore asked pointedly.

"Not your word, Headmaster," Snape clarified. "A person such as yourself need not keep your word to someone like me."

Shaking his head, Dumbledore said, "Forgive me if I most heartily disagree with you, my boy."

Silence.

"I understand if you want to leave, Severus. But do me the courtesy of finishing out the year," Dumbledore said.

Snape nodded, the surprise evident on his face.

"I am happy to see I still am able to surprise the young," Dumbledore said with a smile. "You have the makings of an excellent teacher, Severus. Despite all that has been happening these past months, even Minerva has taken note of it, and I daresay she is most difficult to impress in such matters. And as far as the rest of the year is concerned, I would be happy to help you refine your syllabus, prepare lessons, or even swap horror stories."

Snape eyed Dumbledore incredulously.

"Oh, I had problem students myself, although that does seem like ages ago. I remember this one young witch in particular who questioned me at every turn. It was highly bothersome. I can't tell you how many times I sent her out of my classroom just to get a break from her incessant chatter."

Despite himself, Snape asked, "And what happened to her?"

"Ah. She turned out to be my star pupil and now, my Transfigurations Mistress," Dumbledore replied with a twinkle.

"Minerva?" Snape asked wide-eyed.

"Yes. And now back to business. Would you please do me the favor of asking around the Potions' circles for any interested candidates for next year?"

"Of course, Headmaster."

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Eyeing his Potions Master of 14years, Dumbledore smiled at the memory. He had never had any intention of letting Severus go at the end of the year. But he also knew that Severus needed to come to the decision to stay on his own. Dumbledore thought that if he asked him to serve out the rest of the year, it would give Severus the chance to change his own mind, to grow into the position, and perhaps even learn to like it. Indeed, it appeared to Dumbledore that his plan had worked. Severus seemed to enjoy teaching more and more every day, although truth by told, it was his upper level students that inspired that change. Dumbledore supposed that, however reluctant Severus was to admit this newfound enjoyment for teaching when the end of the year rolled around, that that was why he had stayed. But Dumbledore was wrong. And to this day, he did not know the true reason Severus Snape had decided to remain at Hogwarts at the end of that first year.

Breaking their silence once more, Dumbledore said, "I'm glad you could join me, Severus. I do enjoy your company."

Snape bent his head slightly in a subtle nod.

Noticing the worry lines on Snape's face, Dumbledore asked, "How are you doing, my boy?"

Barely a tick later, Snape replied, "Karkaroff won't stay if the Dark Lord returns."

Dumbledore carefully took in Severus's words. This discussion of Igor Karkaroff was hardly new. In fact, they had discussed the man and what he intended to do many times over. Dumbledore knew very well not to mistake Severus's sudden remarks for an actual conversation about Igor, but instead recognized it for what it truly was, Severus's way of deflecting attention.

Snape continued, "He will run, Albus. Of that, I have no doubt. He is scared out of his wits."

"And you, Severus?" Dumbledore asked gently.

Snape took a deep breath, and replied, "I am resigned to my duty."

"I haven't asked anything of you."

"Albus don't. We've discussed this. If there is some chance that the Dark Lord will take me back – I must go. I am prepared to do whatever you ask of me."

Dumbledore began slowly, "Who knows, other options may yet present themselves."

"Hypothetically?" Snape asked with smirk.

"Yes. Hypothetically," Dumbledore replied, with a hint of a smile.

"I thought you didn't dwell in hypotheticals, Albus," Snape said, his lips now forming a definite smile as well.

"Ah, how well you've baited me, my boy." Both men's minds were dancing around the same memory, the same moment 14 years ago. "But, I think an old man is entitled to change his mind. If I did ask you, would you resent me for it?"

"What would that matter?"

"It matters to me," Dumbledore said seriously.

Silence.

Snape studied the Headmaster's serious expression and realized all too easily that Dumbledore was actually worried about being resented by him. Snape thought that there could not possibly be a more ridiculous notion. _Foolish old man! How could I resent you?_ And Snape decided, that perhaps, he needed to tell Albus just that. After all, it might be his last chance. Certainly now was the time to do it – to tell Dumbledore that he couldn't possibly resent him for asking this of him, not after everything he had done for him. He wanted to tell him that his life was no longer his own. _It's yours Albus…you saved it, so many years ago._

But as Snape began to speak, to tell Dumbledore all of these things, he found himself closing off, and heard his own voice, saying something else entirely. "I don't know."

Snape noticed flicker of something in Dumbledore's eyes. Pain? Was that pain? And he couldn't understand why he had spoken those words. He added quickly, "I know it must be done, Albus. I assure you, there is no room for resentment."

A long minute of silence passed between the men.

"You never answered my original question, Severus."

_And you, Severus…are you 'scared out of your wits?'_

Dumbledore waited for it – the stiff reply, the emotionless denial, all masked behind an affirmation of unwavering duty.

Snape met his gaze fully before replying, "I'd be mad not to be, Albus."

Even now, Dumbledore marveled, so many years later, Severus Snape could still surprise him.

Dumbledore filled the now awkward silence between them as he usually did. He lifted the teapot with a wave of his hand over Severus's nearly empty cup.

"More tea, Severus?" he asked pleasantly, as if they had not just been discussing matters of life and death.

"Please," Snape replied.

Dumbledore had the pot pour his companion another cup, and he watched with a smile as Severus sipped it eagerly.

"It seems my promise to find a tea you consider agreeable has been successful."

Snape said nothing, taking another sip as his answer.

"Do you remember, Severus," Dumbledore began, "the night you decided to stay?"

Snape met the Headmaster's eyes fully again. He had, in fact, been thinking about that moment for the past few minutes.

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Snape had settled himself onto the red sofa in the Headmaster's sitting room, surprised to have received one of those golden notes inviting him to tea. It seemed there was nothing left to discuss between them. His first (and soon to be last) year at Hogwarts had just ended and all of his grades had been turned in. Having spent the better part of the day packing, he was planning on departing within the week.

The two men exchanged the usual pleasantries that marked the uncertain nature of their relationship – somewhere between unfamiliar friends and close acquaintances. Dumbledore eyed Severus's all but untouched cup of tea before speaking.

"I have a confession, Severus. I promised myself that by the end of the year I would find a tea that you loved."

"I'm not a big fan of tea, Headmaster."

"And yet you accepted my invitation this evening."

"I assumed you had business to discuss," Snape said evenly.

"I see."

Dumbledore studied his soon to be former Potions Master carefully.

"So you are definitely leaving then?"

"Yes. I'm almost through packing."

"I must say, I'm disappointed."

_Are you really?_ Snape thought.

"I need someone to keep an old man company and to indulge him in tea at all hours of the night."

"Tea?" Snape asked in genuine surprise.

"Yes, and it shall give me the opportunity to find a tea that entices you. It's really driving me quite mad, Severus. You see, it has never taken me this long to find anyone's favorite tea before."

Snape stared at the Headmaster with raised eyebrows, wondering if he was jesting with him or if he really was this mad.

Dumbledore had been sending Snape notes throughout the past week with enticements to have him stay on at Hogwarts, but nothing had worked. Nonetheless, the Headmaster decided it prudent to address these offers once more. "So there really is no offer that can change your mind then?"

"No."

"Better quarters? A teaching assistant? A higher salary?" Dumbledore inquired.

"No, I'm afraid not."

Dumbledore's eyes locked with Snape's, and he spoke in a low voice. "What if I asked you to stay, Severus?"

Snape was taken slightly aback by the question and perhaps more so by the Headmaster's penetrating gaze. Somewhat unsettled, he responded, "Are you asking…or are you posing a hypothetical?"

"I don't dwell in hypotheticals, Severus," Dumbledore replied with firm seriousness. And then, in a much gentler, lower voice, he asked again, "Would you stay?"

Snape felt an odd sensation in his chest. He wanted to say something equal in magnitude to what he felt. "Of course," Snape said simply instead, swallowing the lump in his throat.

And that was the moment that he knew. It was ridiculous really, Snape thought to himself, that the realization had hit him then, when the feeling had been there for so long. He had always had a deep inexplicable urge to please this man, a _need_ to make him proud – to do something, anything worthy of the faith he had in him. Perhaps that was why the Headmaster's actions in his fifth year were so painful to him, why they had felt like a personal rejection. And now Dumbledore had offered him more than a steady job, more than his freedom – he was offering him his life back, a second chance to be trusted. And above all else, that was the greatest gift.

Dumbledore had simply asked him to stay, and he had assented. In that moment, he had barely resisted the impulse to jump down at the man's feet and swear his undying loyalty to him. Loyalty motivated not out of fear or a thirst for power, but by something else entirely – something more than devotion…something more.

Dumbledore had simply asked him to stay. And it was then that Snape knew – knew that he would do anything for Albus Dumbledore. Anything at all.

-  
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And now, sitting here, nearly 13 years later, Snape huffed mentally at the absolute absurdity of Albus's question. In Snape's mind, the fact that Dumbledore could even ask him if he remembered that night, highlighted how disparate the significance of that memory was between them.

"I remember it quite well," Snape remarked offhandedly, carefully masking the power that that memory held for him. And perhaps more so, the sadness he felt that Albus had no idea.

Driven by the force of that memory and perhaps feeling emboldened by his imminent death, Snape bluntly asked something that he had been wondering for a very long time, "Albus, how much did you pay Fudge to keep me out of Azkaban?"

To his credit, Dumbledore, though astonished, did not feign ignorance. He did not issue denials or attempt to change the subject. He did not ask how on earth Severus had come to suspect this. Instead, he asked with genuine interest, "What, my dear boy, has you asking me this question after 14 years?"

"So it is true," Snape replied, his eyes lighting up in silent triumph at his deduction. "Tell me…how much?"

"What does the number matter?" Dumbledore asked with a concerned glint in his eyes.

It doesn't matter, Snape thought. It wasn't about the money. He had never cared to know before, even though he had long suspected there was money involved, because it hadn't mattered. It was never about what Albus had done for him – although he was inexorably grateful for that – it was what he hadn't done. He had never treated him like a monster, like a Death Eater, like the man he once was, like the man he (at times) still thought he was. _That_ was the debt he owed Albus Dumbledore – not some pittance of galleons.

_You gave me my life back, Albus. That is something I can never repay. Something that can never be measured in gold._

And so why did he want to know now, Dumbledore had asked him. The number didn't matter, although he couldn't help being curious. But it was the fact that he didn't know that was consuming him at this very moment. It was yet another missing piece. Over the last few days, his day-dream journeys through his past memories had revealed that there were many missing pieces. And this was yet another unspoken secret between them. And suddenly, it was one more than he could bear. Something else unknown, guarded and kept.

There was so much Snape could not ask and could not share, but _this_ he could ask – _this _he could know. And in the absence of everything else, with time being the slim thing it was, he would have to settle for knowing this one piece, this secret.

"It doesn't _matter. _I just want to know," Snape replied evenly.

"Why Severus?" Dumbledore eyed him with a scrutinizing gaze that burned holes through him. "Do you suppose it will tell you your worth?"

The question caught Snape completely by surprise. Dumbledore's normally relaxed tone was conspicuously absent, and his expression did not hold the amusement that was lacking in his voice. A short pause passed between them as Snape fumbled for an answer.

"Stop being silly, Albus," Snape replied feebly, dismissing the elder wizard's concern too easily for it to not have struck some chord of truth.

"Although I believe a modicum of silliness is often necessary, this is not one of those times. Why, my boy, does the number matter to you? Do you really believe it means anything? Do you suppose if it were 1,000 galleons that would make you less valuable than if I had paid 10,000? Do you suppose the number means anything more than the measure of one man's greed?"

"I need to know, Albus."

Dumbledore took a deep breath and studied his Potions Master intently. He never thought this would come up – and certainly not now, 14 years later. And although he preferred not to answer, to dismiss Severus's question, there was an urgency in those dark depths that he could not deny.

"Please, Albus."

Dumbledore sighed, "500,000 galleons."

Snape felt his eyes grow wide despite his efforts. He had expected…but what had he expected? Dumbledore was obscenely wealthy, but it was too much to pay for one man's life – for his life.

Dumbledore interrupted his thoughts, "And he was a fool to take it. I would have paid him 10 times that amount. There was no way you were going to Azkaban, Severus."

The initial moment of shock was fast replaced with understanding and then disbelief. How could he have offered that amount? They had barely known each other then, a few months at most. Now perhaps, after they'd been friends for 14 years. But then?

Despite himself, Snape asked curiously, "Why?"

Dumbledore closed his eyes momentarily. When he opened them, Snape was completely unprepared for what he saw in those normally cheerful blue eyes, a deep unmistakable sadness.

Dumbledore spoke in a low, gentle voice, his words so profound and heartfelt, that they stunned the breath right out of Snape's chest. "I lost you once, my dear Severus, because I did not fight hard enough for you. And there was no way I was going to make the same mistake twice. I could not bear to let you go, not ever again."

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**A/N:** First I want to apologize for the length of time between postings. I promise that once my other story is finished, I will devote all my time here...but in the meantime, your patience is appreciated - and I can only promise that I have no intention of dumping this story. I poured myself into every word in this chapter...I hope you like it. If so, please sign up for an author or story alert to keep up with my postings.

I can't tell you how happy all your reviews on the last chapter made me. Thank you! It's funny because my other story has nearly 600 reviews and this one has 11 but every one is so special - perhaps because I consider this my strongest work and it is also much closer to my heart.

Huge thanks to my partner who, by some miracle of nature, agreed to beta this chapter for me (and of course, did a stellar job). Thanks also to Kelei for her beta work.

Please review...please.


	3. Perfect subtle tea

**Title: **Unexpected Grace  
**Author:** Cocoa-Snape  
**Disclaimer: **I own nothing. Harry Potter belongs exclusively to JKR...she is a goddess. I am making no money from this.

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**Unexpected Grace by Cocoa-Snape  
Chapter 3: Perfect subtle tea**

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Albus Dumbledore never found life at Hogwarts commonplace, but this school year was certainly a far cry from ordinary, even by normal standards. The triwizard tournament had unexpectedly become the quad-wizard tournament and the signs were all too evident that Voldemort's return would be imminent. Not the least of which, and certainly the most damning, was the return of his Potions Master's Dark Mark.

In addition to all the puzzles his mind was working through at any given moment (such as who had slipped Harry's name into the Goblet of Fire and why), Dumbledore found himself immersed in countless personal conflicts as well. He never thought that Alastor Moody would get along with Severus, but the insults and ill-will between the men only heightened as the year wore on. And tonight's dinner was certainly no exception.

Remembering suddenly that he needed to feed his beloved blast-ended skrewts, Hagrid all but leapt from the Head Table, bumping Minerva McGonagall's hand and causing her to spill her glass of pumpkin juice all over Alastor Moody's coat.

"Oh Alastor. My apologies," Minerva said quickly, handing him a napkin.

"No problem, my dear lady. It'll wash out. It's only juice after all…" Moody began, his voice deceptively neutral. "Not like other stains that are quite impossible to get rid of."

"Alastor," Dumbledore cautioned in a whisper.

Moody ignored him. Turning his head to stare Snape directly in the eye, he added in a more menacing tone, "Of course you would know about those, wouldn't you, Snape?"

Snape shot up from his chair, shot Moody a menacing glare and quickly swept from the Great Hall through the rear entrance.

"Alastor, that was uncalled for," Dumbledore admonished sharply.

"I can't help it if he's overly sensitive, now can I?" he replied to no one in particular.

Dumbledore calmly stood up as well, and made to follow his Potions Master. By the time he opened the rear door, he noticed that Severus was nearly all the way down the long corridor.

"Severus," Dumbledore called out. But Snape made no effort to respond as he continued down the hall.

"Severus please," Dumbledore tried again, this time noticing with exasperation that instead of slowing down, Snape had in fact sped up slightly.

Dumbledore spoke sharply, "Severus, please don't make me run after you."

That stopped the man dead in his tracks. It took a few moments before Dumbledore finally caught up with Snape, whose back remained turned to the elder wizard, his fists clenched tightly at his sides.

Several seconds later came the soft, but unmistakably angry voice, "He searched my quarters again, Headmaster."

_Headmaster._ Indeed, Dumbledore noted, Snape was very angry. When the two were alone, Severus reserved that appellation for moments of anger or apology.

Dumbledore sighed deeply, before beginning gently, "Severus, we have had this conversation and—"

The final bit of evidence that Snape was angry at Dumbledore came from his uncharacteristically sharp interruption of the Headmaster, "Potter's been raiding my cupboards again and you let that deranged man search me! As if I am to blame?"

"Severus, first of all, you have no evidence that Harry was in your storeroom…"

"I know it was him. He's stolen other things from me before. And who else would it be? I found that blasted egg of his that same night."

"Severus, that doesn't mean—"

Snape spun around sharply, his dark eyes gleaming, "Why do I even bother? Even if I caught him red-handed you'd just pat him on the head, tell him to behave and send him on his merry way."

"Severus…"

"Please spare me the excuses, Headmaster. Just go on and defend your precious little Gryffindors, like you always do," Snape spat.

"Now, Severus, are you talking about Harry or James?"

"Don't you try to turn this back on me…"

"Severus…"

"No!" Snape intoned forcefully, raising his voice slightly, "I'm not going to stand for this another minute…"

"Severus, get control of yourself this instant," Dumbledore said with calm authority. He waited a moment, allowing the force of his words to register and watched as Snape unclenched his fists, apparently stunned by his own rudeness.

A moment later Dumbledore said, "I never gave Alastor permission to search your quarters, Severus."

Dumbledore's words left Snape looking startled, his anger suddenly gone, replaced with something else entirely. Dumbledore's penetrating gaze was trained on Severus's eyes, trying to read his all but unreadable face.

Snape whispered softly, "He said that you told him to keep an eye out…"

"I didn't mean on you, my dear boy," Dumbledore replied gently.

No answer.

Dumbledore continued, becoming worried about Severus's sudden turn in mood.

"Severus, his comments were uncalled for, but you know the man isn't all there and it has never bothered you like this before. I will speak with him, but it seems I no longer have his confidence. We both know that it will do little."

"So I'm just supposed to sit there and take it?" Snape asked sharply, the anger reentering his eyes.

"I don't expect you'd ever sit there and take anything, Severus. Now, please tell me what's wrong."

"You know damn well what's wrong."

"There is far more than you're telling me. Did Alastor say something else to you?"

"Should he have? Isn't what he said enough?"

"Severus, please. You know very well I didn't mean it like that."

Silence.

Dumbledore continued, "Severus, why don't we discuss this over tea?"

"You'll have to excuse me, Headmaster," Snape replied coldly, "I am busy."

Dumbledore watched as Snape stalked off, leaving him with yet another puzzle to solve.

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Fortunately for Dumbledore, Snape accepted his invitation to tea the following evening. Despite Dumbledore's concerned queries, however, he was not very forthcoming. Snape remained obstinately silent under the Headmaster's insistent gaze. Dumbledore carefully suppressed his smile of amusement as he watched Severus drinking his tea almost angrily – as only Severus Snape could do.

Dumbledore decided to make another attempt in engaging Severus in conversation. "I spoke with Alastor this morning. I'm not entirely sure how much good it will do regarding his behavior towards you. But I told him that if he ever falsely mentioned me as an accomplice in his plots, I would make his life very…unpleasant."

Silence.

Finally, Snape spoke, "I apologize, Headmaster, for my behavior yesterday. It was…"

"Please, Severus, I haven't asked you here to censure you. I think you can call me Albus."

More silence.

Releasing a frustrating sigh, Dumbledore said, "Severus, will you tell me what's the matter?"

Hesitantly, Snape began, "I told him that you trusted me, that you would never authorize a search."

_Back to this again_, Dumbledore thought. He had been certain that there was something more.

"Severus, I didn't authorize anything."

Snape put his hand up, and shook his head, gently telling Dumbledore that that wasn't what he had meant. He began again, his voice soft and uncertain, "But I think he knew…knew I wasn't sure – the way he taunted me."

"Don't ever doubt my trust in you, Severus. I have to say, you're worrying me, dear boy. You look quite unsettled." Dumbledore too found himself slightly unsettled by the vulnerability in Severus's eyes; it was very unlike his Potions Master.

His statement seemed only to further increase the worry lines on the younger man's face. Snape snapped abruptly, "And you know that how, exactly?"

"You look worried."

"Is that so? So, I'm just that obvious?" Snape huffed.

"Hardly," Dumbledore replied.

"Were you reading me just then?" Snape asked harshly.

"No. You know that I would never do that without your permission, Severus." And suddenly the puzzle was becoming clearer. Voicing his deduction, Dumbledore half-asked, half-asserted, "You're worried about Voldemort…seeing the truth in you."

Snape shook his head in renewed frustration, "Merlin, Albus, I'm just an open book!"

"Oh dear boy, that is the last thing you are. I was simply using some deductive reasoning and yes," Dumbledore admitted, "the worry was evident in your face, but Severus, I daresay I know you very well. And you're not trying to hide from me – most of the time."

"Hmm. You say that as if it's a good thing."

"It is. I am glad that you feel comfortable around me. And I can't tell you how happy it makes me that you indulge me with the occasional smile, although those are rare these days."

"There's nothing to smile about."

"Indeed. Very little." A moment later, Dumbledore added, "You are an excellent Occlumens, Severus."

"Hmm."

With a pronounced twinkle in his eyes and a smile on his face, Dumbledore attempted to lighten the mood. "I remember a time when I wasn't certain if you were happy I hired you or if you were secretly fantasizing about murdering me ever time I invited you to tea."

Barely a beat later, Snape suppressed his smile and replied stone-faced, "How do you know it wasn't both?"

"Ahh see! I cannot be sure if you're joking with me or not," Dumbledore replied with a chuckle. And then added, "All joking aside, Severus, what are your worries?"

Snape paused a moment to consider the question and then replied hesitantly, "I am undoubtedly rusty. Contending with deranged Aurors is a far cry from the Dark Lord."

"Well then, let's set aside some time and you can practice."

"Practice?" Snape asked in surprise.

"Yes. Rumor has it I am an accomplished Legilimens," Dumbledore said, his blue eyes positively sparkling.

_Accomplished Legilimens_, Snape huffed mentally. _Only the best_. But the thought of Dumbledore in his head again was a discomfiting one. It had been a very long time.

"I don't know, Albus," Snape said slowly, his distress at Dumbledore's proposal evident.

Dumbledore replied softly, "I promise I'll be gentle with you, Severus."

Snape wasn't sure exactly why those words made him feel so uncomfortable, but he quashed the feeling and replied with a glint of amusement, "That's what you said 14 years ago."

Dumbledore began to laugh and Severus soon followed suit.

"Ah…but I was lying back then."

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The very next evening as Snape sat down on the familiar red couch in the Headmaster's sitting room, not without considerable apprehension, he thought about Dumbledore's offer to refresh his Occlumency skills.

He knew that this would be nothing like it was 14 years ago, where they had spent most of their time learning how to stop the invasion, and expel the invading Legilimens. Their lessons had been rushed and they had only begun to address the more subtle aspects of Occlumency, which was, of course, the key to fooling Voldemort. Fortunately for Snape, he had a natural aptitude for the magical art.

Snape knew all too well that even attempting to prevent the Dark's Lord intrusion into his mind would be suicide. Not only would it advertise that he was hiding something, but eventually (under the proper conditions) the Dark Lord would break his mind open like an egg. The trick was to pretend that he was freely baring his mind, allowing Voldemort to examine it at his leisure, but yet exert enough control to selectively reveal and conceal what he desired.

No, the key was not brute force, but clever intellect and quick-witted instinct. Snape knew he would have to become a master of seamless collage, fluidly weaving images, thoughts, emotions and memories into a satisfying, apocryphal image.

This would take focus and concentration and tremendous skill. Not muscle or dark curses. This was subtlety at its finest – controlling illusion and shadow. This was art.

After finishing his cup of tea, Dumbledore leaned back in his armchair and said, "Shall we begin then?"

"Here?" Snape asked in disbelief, looking around the sitting room.

"I don't imagine you'll need the floor this time," Dumbledore prodded. Snape shot back a menacing glare, belied entirely by the smile in his eyes. Both were thinking about the countless times in their Occlumency lessons of 14 years ago that Snape had ended up lying prostrate on Dumbledore's office floor.

Snape replied with a smirk, "So you don't plan on smacking me in the face again then, Albus?" Snape did enjoy reminding Dumbledore of the time he had entered his mind with such force that he had been knocked unconscious. The Headmaster had given him a hard smack across the face to get him to start breathing again.

"You will never let me live that down, will you, Severus?" Dumbledore shook his head as if in frustration, but beamed an even larger smile.

"I couldn't resist, Albus. It's been such a long time since I've had an opportunity to bring it up."

"Are you ready?"

"I suppose," Snape replied nervously.

The two men remained seated, and neither drew their wand. Dumbledore could enter wandlessly with reasonable force and Snape needed to be able to defend against the intrusion without a wand, using only his mind. One couldn't, after all, hex the Dark Lord.

"How should we begin?" Snape asked, taking a last sip of his tea.

"I want you to show me how wonderful your childhood was," Dumbledore said simply.

"Excuse me?" Snape nearly spat out his tea.

"Your wonderful childhood, Severus. I want to see it." Snape realized that Dumbledore wanted him to somehow spin the horror of a childhood he had had into something delightful.

"Are you trying to BREAK me on the first go, Albus?"

"Surely you're beneath anything less complicated, Severus. I'll give you a minute to get yourself organized."

"A minute won't be enough and it's a minute I wouldn't have," Snape protested.

"Nonetheless, it is our 'first go' as you put it, and besides, I have all the faith in your stalling tactics, Severus. You can be quite charming when you try."

"Is that so?" Snape asked with a raised eyebrow.

"I don't know. Can you tell if I'm lying?" Dumbledore asked with a twinkle in his eyes.

Snape threw him a playful scowl and attempted to collect his thoughts and steady his mental walls. Several moments later – certainly not a minute later, Snape noted in frustration – Dumbledore whispered without warning, "_Legilimens_."

Dumbledore could feel how jarred Severus was by his entry, which he presumed to be the first penetration of the younger wizard's mind in over 13 years. Severus hadn't tried to prevent it, of course, that wasn't the point of this game, but Dumbledore noted that he had composed himself admirably.

And as the images began to flow over him and he witnessed Severus's clever arrangement of thoughts, memories, and emotions, he could not help but be impressed at Severus's skill. He knew very well that the memories he was seeing had been carefully selected, rare happy moments that Severus could attribute to his youth. But they were arranged in such a way that Severus made them appear haphazard, almost as though his mind were swimming through a myriad of happy memories, each a testimony to his 'delightful' childhood.

Dumbledore pressed his mind against Severus's a bit harder, demanding more detail. Severus responded in the blink of an eye.

_A young Severus Snape, about five years old is being dressed in formal wizarding robes by a beautiful woman, with long black hair. "Do you like these robes, Severus?" she asks. "Yes mommy." She brushes off imaginary lint off the boy's robes and says, "You're going to be the handsomest boy at your uncle's wedding."_

Suddenly a new memory appeared in front of Dumbledore.

_A much older Severus, about 14 years, standing in front of his mother, who looks a great deal older than she should._

Noting Severus's age, Dumbledore realized that this must have taken place around the time of her death. Nonetheless, the overriding emotion of the memory is happiness and Dumbledore couldn't help but feel that Severus was tinkering with the memory.

_Slowly, the woman removes a platinum chain and amulet from her neck and places it in her son's hand. "I want you to have this. Something to remind you of your mother when you're away at Hogwarts. I love you so very much, Severus."_

With a flash, Dumbledore is witnessing something else.

_The sorting hat is placed on Severus's head. His face is anxious, but the hat shouts almost instantly, "Slytherin." Severus smiles._

_A much younger Severus, about 6 by Dumbledore's guess, is wide-eyed with excitement as he shouts, "Can I try it again mommy? Please!" Looking around carefully, his mother replies, "Alright then, but let's keep this between us, Severus. All right?" Severus nods, "Yes mommy. I promise." She hands the boy her wand and he swishes and flicks with definite skill, intoning, "_Wingardium Leviosa_." He levitates the cup easily and guides it carefully across the room. The pride in his mother's eyes is unmistakable and she exclaims, "Remarkable, Severus! My you are a quick study!"_

Dumbledore decided to make the task a bit more challenging. He maneuvered suddenly to face an obscured facade, unguarded. Dumbledore knew that it concealed Severus's memories of his father and he set about to gain entry. Severus was taken momentarily aback, as the wall receded infinitesimally under Dumbledore's approach, but he quickly recovered. Subverting Dumbledore's attempts, he sent the Legilimens an alternate memory of his father.

_Severus, age 11, enters Ollivander's shop with a tall dark man. The man's nose is unmistakably Severus's and there can be no doubt that it is his father. Severus's eyes widen in wonder at the shelves stacked with wands. The memory skips ahead and with a glint in his eyes, Ollivander hands Severus another wand to try, "Thirteen and a half inches, black walnut with a dragon-heart string core. Very rare." Severus flicks the wand and levitates Ollivander's desk for a long moment before releasing it. Ollivander's eyes widen at the young man's skill and control. "You must be very proud," Ollivander says to the man. Severus's father turns and replies with a smile, "Yes very. His mother and I both."_

Ah, and there it was, Dumbledore thought. The first fake memory. Not all of it was fake of course, but Dumbledore was certain that Severus had constructed parts of it. Nonetheless, to Severus's credit, Dumbledore could not be sure and he would have not suspected Severus's tampering had he not been keenly aware that Tobias Snape would have never set foot in Ollivander's shop. Severus didn't speak of his childhood much, but Dumbledore knew his father was not the type to encourage his son in his wizarding education.

But there was no time for such musings as Severus was sending him yet another memory.

_Now, age 10, Severus falls off a speeding broom. _The memory skips forward and _Severus's mother is leaning over his bruised face. Her face is obscured, and she speaks in a soft hoarse voice, "You're such a brave boy, Severus. So much braver and so much stronger than your mother could ever be. You're going to be a great wizard one day, a great wizard. I know you are, my darling."_

Although the content of the memory and the emotions it exuded were masterfully put together, Dumbledore sensed that something was amiss. Exerting considerable pressure, Dumbledore ascertained that, as he suspected, the memory was overlaid with false emotions. While Severus was projecting this memory as a happy one, a moment of pride between mother and son, it was in fact a very sad memory for Severus. And Dumbledore knew instantly that Severus hadn't gotten those bruises from falling off a broom.

Releasing himself from Severus's mind, Dumbledore said, "Very well done, Severus. I think some fresh tea is in order." Dumbledore snapped his fingers and the pot was replenished. He poured them both some tea and the two drank in silence.

After several minutes, Dumbledore spoke, "It has been many years, but I don't recall the sorting hat having such an easy time with you."

Snape was pleased. Even Dumbledore could not be certain of the memory's authenticity.

"Would you like to see it, Albus?"

"If you would not mind sharing it with me."

Taking another sip of his tea, Snape sent Dumbledore the real memory.

_The sorting hat is placed on Severus's head, his face anxious. "Difficult. Difficult. Oh…you are a tough one, indeed. My first instinct was to put you in Ravenclaw, but you are so much more than brains. Yes, indeed. One rarely sees such bravery in one so young. Yes, perhaps Gryffindor then. You would serve them well. Hmm, but you are an ambitious one aren't you? Yes, so eager to prove yourself! In Slytherin, you could become great indeed. So what's it to be? Gryffindor or Slytherin?"_

_Severus's mind rushes back to the memory of his mother, telling him, this time her face visible, with tears running down it, "You're going to be a great wizard one day, a great wizard. I know you are my darling."_

_The boy of 11 asks the sorting hat, "Please Slytherin." The hat complies, shouting loudly, "Slytherin."_

Dumbledore reflected on this new information, surprised that he was only learning this now. "I didn't know you asked it to put you in Slytherin. Do you regret that decision?"

Snape paused a moment considering the loaded question before replying, "In some ways yes. In others no."

Dumbledore once again broke the tension as only he could, "To think," he began with a broad smile, "you were nearly a Gryffindor."

Snape eyed Dumbledore and warned the elder wizard, "If that gets out Albus…"

"I am the model of discretion, my boy."

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Over the next few weeks, both men met regularly for Occlumency sessions over tea. But in addition to these meetings, Dumbledore routinely tested the firmness and stability of Snape's mental walls using subtle Legilimency, often to Snape's utter exasperation. Albus Dumbledore was a master at subtle Legilimency, being able to read someone's feelings and sometimes thoughts without the use of the uttered _Legilimens_ spell. This technique had the virtue of leaving the subject unaware of the invasion. Since Dumbledore's ethics prohibited him from routinely using this method on others, Snape noted that Dumbledore seemed to be making up for these lost opportunities with him.

The Headmaster would brush Snape's mind at the most random moments, in the halls as the two men passed, during staff meetings and at meals, often to the confusion of others present on those occasions. Minerva in particular was aware that the two seemed to be communicating tacitly – and tonight's dinner was no exception.

Midway through their meal, Snape suddenly noticed that a very healthy helping of mashed potatoes appeared on his plate. He looked around, slightly alarmed.

To his right, Dumbledore remarked evenly, but with a conspicuous twinkle of victory, "You were thinking, weren't you, Severus, that you wanted some more mashed potatoes?"

Snape snorted and scowled at the elder wizard in annoyance, angry more at himself for letting Dumbledore enter his mind without having been aware of it. He paused for a few seconds, strengthened his mental walls and began eating the potatoes. Barely a moment later a pork chop also appeared on his plate.

"Now I wasn't thinking any such thing!" Snape huffed so loudly that Minerva turned her head in order to ascertain the reason for the sudden outburst.

When she restarted her conversation with Pomona, Dumbledore leaned slightly towards Snape and whispered very close to his ear, "I know. But you should eat, dear boy. You are becoming frightfully thin."

Seconds later, a message appeared pressed in Dumbledore's mashed potatoes, '_meddler_.'

Dumbledore began chuckling loudly, and with Minerva now shrewdly eying the pair, Dumbledore ate his mashed potato message with secret enthusiasm.

Snape maintained his grimace at Dumbledore's behavior. Although he acted annoyed every time the superior Legilimens sensed a weakness, he was, in fact, inexplicably grateful for the extra help. He didn't know if it would actually do any good, but it kept him on his toes throughout the day – something he knew he had to get used to once again. But more than that, these sessions with Albus distracted him from what was coming and he found some small measure of comfort knowing that at least he was doing _something _to prepare. As if one could ever prepare for what lie ahead, Snape thought.

That same evening, Snape's frustration resurfaced as he sat drinking tea in Dumbledore's sitting room.

"Your guard is slightly lax, Severus," Dumbledore said softly, referring to Snape's mental defenses.

Snape raised his eyebrows, before replying in astonishment, "You're having me on, Albus. I don't feel it."

"It's imperceptible."

"Then how do you know?" Snape asked in clear annoyance.

"Well," Dumbledore acquiesced, "almost imperceptible." Noting the slightly panicked look on Severus's face, he added gently, "I didn't get past anything of consequence."

"Then what did you get out of me?" Snape demanded.

"You want more lemon in your tea, Severus," Dumbledore said softly, directing a piece of lemon to hover over Severus's teacup.

Snape closed his eyes in irritation, as he struggled not to hurl the lemon at the elder wizard's pristine robes. A moment later he sighed and dropped the lemon into his tea.

"Relax, my boy. You are much stronger than you were a month ago."

"Hmm," Snape grunted disbelievingly, fully aware that he would never be strong enough to stop Dumbledore's subtle intrusions.

"However useful this exercise may be, Severus, you know it is a moot point. Tom was never good at subtle Legilimency. Not to mention that it isn't his style."

"True," Snape replied, unsure whether to feel comforted or terrified by the reminder. "He always preferred more forceful methods."

"Another mistake of his," Dumbledore replied.

Snape suppressed his smile, knowing how true Dumbledore's words were. Albus Dumbledore, who commanded loyalty not with fear and intimidation but with kindness and small comforts. Dumbledore, whose powerful weapons were not Unforgivables, but perfectly brewed cups of tea and gentle reassurances. Dumbledore, the only one whom he dared trust when he found his life on the edge of a precipice. Dumbledore, whose control over him had been so masterful, so subtle, it had caught him completely unaware. But somehow, for the first time ever, Snape had found that his vulnerability hadn't mattered, because he knew Dumbledore would not let him fall.

Snape returned to Dumbledore's observation about the usefulness of subtle Legilimency, "You're a master at it though, Albus."

"I confess," Dumbledore began, a sparkle in his eye, "it is one of my strong suits."

"But you don't _use_ it on people, of course," Snape said with friendly sarcasm.

"Of course," Dumbledore mimed.

"Even for innocuous things, Albus?" Snape prodded.

"Such as?"

Hoping to undermine Dumbledore's affirmation, Snape all too skillfully enticed the elder wizard with what he knew to be irresistible bait, "Such as what dessert I'm hankering for?"

Dumbledore paused a moment, and eyed his Potions Master with a serious expression before snapping his fingers. A plate of cardamom scones, Snape's favorite, appeared in front of them on the coffee table. Snape's eyes narrowed in triumph, a smile playing on the corners of his mouth.

Dumbledore replied softly, a glimmer in his voice, "What's the harm in a little intrusion if it's meant to please?"

Snape savored his victory along with the scones.

Dumbledore beamed as he watched Severus enjoying the pastries. Dumbledore had always prided himself on being able to rapidly intuit a person's favorite dessert and tea – especially when they didn't know it for themselves. It had taken less than two weeks to deduce Severus's liking for these scones. They were a perfect match – both intense, almost overpowering, both unique. It was really all too easy, Dumbledore reflected.

Dumbledore remembered that the tea had been a different story entirely. By the end of Snape's third year at Hogwarts, Dumbledore was beginning to think that perhaps he had found the first Englishman who truly loathed tea. But now as he watched Severus wrapping his fingers around the cup, soaking up its heat, and then eagerly lifting it to his lips, he wondered how it could possibly have taken so long for him to see it. Lemon lavender – with balanced tones of bitter and sweet, it was at once potent and delicate. And the scent lingered, much to Dumbledore's delight, long after the two had parted.

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**A/N:** Please review. I had spare time this week and focused my attention on getting this chapter to you asap, ...but as always, your patience for my haphazard updates is appreciated.

I really hoped you liked this - I _adored_ writing this chapter...everything from the argumentative staff table interactions, to Severus's vulnerability with sharing his youth, to his concern about being rusty at Occlumency, to Albus's sincere concern/help, to the positively adorably playful interactions between these men, to the last bit...which I hope you liked.

I cannot express enough my **sincere thanks** to all those who have reviewed this story. _--Big Hugs--_ Every review is so special and so meaningful - really. Please continue to review. I am very interested in hearing what parts moved you the most, made you laugh or smile or whatever. It is very helpful, especially since I haven't even started chapter 4 yet.

I cannot thank my wonderful partner, **M**, enough for her tremendous work with this chapter. She has really thrown herself into this story of mine and improved my writing as a result.

PLEASE be a darling and review!


	4. The perfect amount

**Title: **Unexpected Grace  
**Author:** Cocoa-Snape  
**Disclaimer: **I own nothing. Harry Potter belongs exclusively to JKR...she is a goddess. I am making no money from this.

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**Unexpected Grace **by **Cocoa-Snape  
Chapter 4: The perfect amount**

A week before the final triwizard task was set to begin, Dumbledore noticed that Severus was very quiet. Neither man could escape this thing they sensed looming over them, and it had led to many a solemn evening. But Dumbledore knew this was different.

"Severus, I know you are shouldering many burdens at present. It would be a shame to add to an already heavy load. I sense something else weighing upon you."

Snape shifted uncomfortably on the Headmaster's red couch. He spoke hesitantly, as if his words were bare feet treading on shards of glass, "I want to thank you for all your help these past weeks, Albus. It's just…controlling one's mind is much easier when you're…_comfortable_," he finished, finally settling on that word. A few moments later, he began nervously, unsure of how to string these difficult words together, "Do you think you could…" Snape looked down at the floor, "It's been so long, Albus…I'm worried I'll crumble."

Dumbledore knew suddenly what Severus wanted and did not waste any time before replying, "_Absolutely _not!"

"Please, Albus," Snape found himself imploring. Finding some measure of courage he said, in a voice too desperate to be his own, "Just for ten seconds, Albus. I just need to know that I can keep the walls up. I've forgotten what it feels like."

That was a lie. He hadn't forgotten. Such pain was not something one ever forgot. But it had been over 13 years and he needed to know.

"I will not inflict pain upon you, Severus," Dumbledore said in a harsh, firm voice, "Anything else. Not that."

Snape could see the frustration and anguish in Dumbledore's normally happy eyes and it took him aback. Suddenly very sorry he had opened his mouth in the first place, he added quickly, "Of course, Albus. I'm sorry I asked. It was wrong of me…"

Dumbledore raised his hand to stop Severus's apologies. He was angry. If only Severus knew that he was angry at himself – angry for having the nerve to ask Severus to return to that evil and not having the strength to grant Severus's request.

The two sat in awkward silence for a very long time. The more time passed, the less Snape could fathom his audacity at having asked Albus Dumbledore to cast an Unforgivable on him.

At some point, each sensing it was long past the time to begin their evening session, they both rose to their feet and stepped in the open space just outside the sitting room. Dumbledore removed his wand out of his robes – he was using his wand these days to exert increased force with the _Legilimens _spell. Snape was wandless, as always.

Not a word was uttered between them as Dumbledore entered Snape's mind. He began rapidly sifting through the younger wizard's memories with absurd ease. No matter how many times they had done this, Snape knew he would never get used to the experience of having someone inside his head, rifling through his most private thoughts. It left him feeling exposed, vulnerable, weak.

As Dumbledore began focusing his attentions on a specific group of memories, Snape fought to control and slow the elder wizard's progress. Their sessions these days were significantly more difficult as Dumbledore would not tell him what he was searching for – thereby mimicking Voldemort's invasions. It was up to Snape to figure out what questions the Legilimens wanted answered, what memories he was determined to see and then adjust accordingly with misdirection and concealment.

Dumbledore, Snape sensed, was moving over memories and emotions connected with himself. Before he could stop it, Dumbledore had retrieved and was viewing a very recent memory of the two of them having tea. Knowing full well that it would be disastrous should the Dark Lord glimpse a memory of his servant joking with his greatest enemy about not having ordered cardamom scones for him after another hard Occlumency session, Snape deftly altered the memory.

While Dumbledore talked about his day, Snape's overriding emotions were boredom and annoyance, and his thought, similarly tampered with, was _'If I have to listen to one more minute of his inane pedantic babble, I'm going to Apparate myself to the bottom of Hogwarts Lake.'_

But Dumbledore was unrelenting. Applying considerable force upon this strand of thought, he successfully shattered Severus's emotional front.

Snape could hear Dumbledore's thoughts in his mind, "You let me get in too far, Severus."

"Damn it, Albus. What am I supposed to do under that kind of scrutiny?"

"You know exactly what to do – more diversion. Oh and clean up your overlay, your edges are slipping slightly."

Unable to fathom how Albus could possibly notice something he himself could not see, Snape snorted in frustration.

"Do you want to take a minute to regroup?"

"No," Snape replied stubbornly.

A moment later, Dumbledore seized on another memory, the two meeting in Snape's first year to discuss his syllabus. Dumbledore was giving Severus advice on teaching and the younger wizard seemed in a rage over it, thinking, _'You actually think I'm here to teach, don't you, you patronizing son of a bitch? Merlin I hate you and your pompous speeches, you self-aggrandizing bastard.'_

Snape could feel the surge of pressure Dumbledore was exerting on his mental walls. He was demanding truth…he wanted to see. The compulsion was so strong, Snape thought Dumbledore must have also uttered the Imperius as he could almost hear the command in his brain, _'Show me, Severus.'_

Snape's mind was like a dam about to give way. He could feel the splintering, then the crack as his barriers broke, releasing a sudden barrage of images.

_A deep warmth spreading through his chest as he holds a golden piece of parchment in his hands._

_A chuckle leaving his throat as he watches Albus making a mess of his beard with a jelly-filled donut._

_His head sunk in a red pillow, fast asleep._

Snape firmly twisted on the strand of memories, at last curbing Dumbledore's access, but not before Dumbledore could instruct, "That wall needs to be much firmer, Severus."

"I realize that!" Snape huffed in annoyance. "But I'm not Merlin, Albus!"

"You don't need to be, Severus. Here, let me show you."

Barely a moment later, Severus felt Dumbledore entering the recesses of his mind, but not as before – instead of overbearing force, this was more akin to the pressure of an embrace.

"Emotions are entities unto themselves. Don't hide them, Severus. Blend them into the folds of your mind. Make them indecipherable…"

Before Snape could begin to fathom how one could do that, he felt the answer.

Albus was gently guiding him to channel his emotions to a deep fold in his mind. He could suddenly feel the very edges of Albus's magic brushing his own and then adjusting it…transmuting his magical energy into something singularly stronger, into a power he did not know he could possess. The completed camouflage was spectacular and Snape briefly wondered if this was what Albus's mind was like.

The task now complete, Dumbledore released his hold on Severus's mind. And for the first time since their sessions had begun, Severus Snape felt startled by the loss.

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On his way back to the dungeons, Snape's thoughts were spinning in a tumultuous whirlwind. This latest foray into Occlumency had left him astonished. He had never doubted that Dumbledore's skill was without bound, but to actually be able to see it, to feel it, was something else entirely.

Nevertheless, the session had left him embarrassed by his inadequacy. He had wanted to show Albus that he could do better; he had been desperate to impress him. Snape ran his fingers through his hair, surprised at the solidity of the skull beneath. He would never admit it to the elder wizard, but he did not like closing their sessions feeling beaten. And so far Dumbledore had won.

When he arrived in Dumbledore's sitting room the following evening, he commanded a steely countenance. Dumbledore was halted in mid-sitting motion when Snape proclaimed, "Let's begin shall we," in a tone that was anything but questioning.

Being faced with this new sense of urgency, Dumbledore responded in kind. He immediately entered Snape's mind with enormous force and once again Snape was faced with the memory of the two having tea. This time Snape was well-prepared. Heeding Dumbledore's earlier advice, he capitalized on diversionary tactics, sending the other man a slew of other memories, each more emotionally dense than the next, essentially 'burying' Dumbledore in a pile of rubbish.

Once Dumbledore had extracted himself from the mess Severus had deliberately created, he again subjected the hold of Severus's walls to an exacting pressure, attempting to summon a positive memory of himself. But apparently there were none to be had; more pressure on Dumbledore's behalf only released a memory of Snape's choosing. Dumbledore recognized it at once.

_Severus, before the Holidays of his sixth year, is asking the Headmaster as he passes him in the hall to be allowed to stay at Hogwarts for Christmas._

At the time, the rules had not permitted students to stay. Dumbledore had changed the rules the next year on Severus's account, but by then it was too late.

_"I'm sorry, Severus, but Hogwarts' rules don't allow for students to stay."_

_"I can't leave, sir, please."_

_"Why is that, Severus?"_

_The young Snape hesitates, apparently considering whether to tell the Headmaster the truth. Dumbledore misses the younger man's hesitation, his mind burdened with a new report he has heard that morning on the rising threat of Voldemort._

_"I have research to do in the library, sir. You won't even know I'm here. Please."_

_"I'm sorry, Severus, but the answer is no."_

_"But you're letting Lupin stay," the boy snaps._

_"He is a special case. Professor Wilkes had agreed to look after him as he has no home to go to."_

_Severus thinks about telling Dumbledore, 'You call what I have a home? My mother's dead and my bastard of a father all but killed her.' But he remains silent and walks away._

_Moments later, Severus is intercepted by Rosier, who brags about his early prediction, "I told you he never cared about you. Why don't you come stay with me? My father says we have an invitation from the Malfoys for New Year's. You can come. Avery and Wilkes are coming too."_

_Severus looks relieved at the opportunity to get away from home and accepts the invitation._

Dumbledore knew Severus hadn't needed to modify that memory. It had done the work for him. Now he was demanding another memory, summoning something Severus would hope to keep secret from behind his tightly kept defenses. Yet again, the memory delivered was not what Dumbledore was expecting, and what is more it was not a memory that Dumbledore was particularly keen on revisiting. But Dumbledore had to hand it to Severus, he was controlling his mental access masterfully. The anger in these memories was palpable – something Voldemort would undoubtedly love to see.

_It is towards the end of Severus's sixth year, the year of the Shrieking Shack incident and Severus has just learned of the consequences (or lack thereof) to the Marauders._

_"Severus, I'm sorry that Mr. Lupin's situation prevents me from taking stronger action against Mr. Black," the Headmaster says calmly._

_Snape's rage is radiating off his body as he shouts, "So what you're saying is that my life is meaningless because I'm not one of your precious fucking Gryffindors?"_

_"I will not stand for that language, Mr. Snape. It seems to me you want revenge instead of justice. You have every right to be angry. But I don't think punishing Mr. Lupin is the right thing to do here."_

_"Of course not!" Snape says mockingly, "Why would you punish them? They're all you give a shit about. You pretend to care, but you don't, you just turn a blind eye to everyone else, unless they make a mistake. Then you notice."_

_"You're wrong. I do care about you, Severus," Dumbledore replies solemnly._

_Snape's face contorts into an ugly sneer as he spits violently, "Don't you ever call me that again! Not ever again! I can't believe I ever cared about what you thought of me. At least today taught me how stupid I was to ever give a damn about that."_

As the memory faded away, Dumbledore had to admit, Severus was painting a very convincing picture of his disdain for him. In fact, he could more than see it, he could now _feel _it, emanating off of every strand of memory and thought in Severus's mind – the pure unmitigated hatred was like an impenetrable cloud. Dumbledore could sense Severus's emotions bubbling up all around him. How much he hated Dumbledore's smile, his cheery facade that schemed and manipulated others. How he simultaneously envied and dreaded his power, wanting it all for himself so that he could end this mock servitude that now was his life.

Dumbledore exerted considerable pressure once again, demanding detail – demanding to see more than old school memories and short snippets of thoughts and emotions. Snape responded without any effort – he sent the memory he needed crashing on Dumbledore's senses.

Dumbledore wasn't too surprised at what it was, but was impressed with the way Severus had put it together. It was an argument over another DADA appointment, but Severus carefully adjusted the memory to skirt or exclude the fact that the argument was concerned less about Severus actually wanting the position than it was about whom Dumbledore had chosen in his stead.

Severus had applied for the position every year, in part with the quixotic hope that he might one day get the job, in part out of the necessity of proving to Voldemort that he was ambitious as ever. But despite all this, Severus understood Albus's reasons for denying him the post – he even agreed with him. But Lupin? This was adding insult to injury. The public was already of the general opinion that Dumbledore did not trust him enough to give him the job, which was humiliating enough, but now to give it to Lupin – Snape found this to be a painful betrayal.

Dumbledore cringed slightly as the memory hit him. It had been their worst argument since Severus had taken up the Potions position and it had not even been two years ago.

_Both men stand on opposite sides of Dumbledore's desk._

_"Headmaster, I must express my concern with your appointment of that werewolf."_

_"His name is Remus Lupin," Dumbledore corrects._

_"Headmaster, this is preposterous!" Snape fumes. "I said nothing when you appointed that incompetent narcissist Lockhart, but_—_"_

_"I remember you saying quite a great deal."_

_"Not nearly as much as I wanted to say," Snape snaps._

_"I'm sure."_

_"But if you expect me to keep quiet about this…"_

_"Hoped, would be a better word," Dumbledore replies evenly._

_"Are you mocking me, Headmaster? Because this is intolerable."_

The memory skipped forward.

_Snape is still on his feet, fists clenched tightly at his sides, but Dumbledore is seated in his chair, looking positively worn out._

_Dumbledore interrupts Snape mid-sentence, "Severus, you are exhausting me. Can we please call it a night?"_

_As if he didn't hear Dumbledore, Snape continues with fervor, as though he were saying something new, something different than he had been saying for the past hour. "A werewolf, Albus? A werewolf!" _

_"Hisname, Severus," Dumbledore replies, with increasing agitation, "is Remus Lupin, and I think your argument is with him personally. You need to let go, Severus."_

_Apparently this was the wrong thing to say because it only seemed to fuel Snape further. A new rage enters his eyes as he shouts, "How can I, when you continue to treat me like a second class citizen?"_

_"I've explained the reasons behind my decision to you many times, Severus," Dumbledore responds calmly. "Don't make this about that. You know I meant that you need to let go of your previous disagreements with Remus."_

_"Disagreement? He tried to kill me!"_

_"Now you know perfectly well that's not true. He had no part in that."_

_Snape stops for a moment, the dejected disbelief visible on his face. When he speaks, his words are harsh, an angry whisper, "Even now you favor them over me. Even now! I've given you 12 years…"_

_"I don't recall ever forcing you to stay, Severus."_

_The words hit Snape like a slap in the face. His body shakes as he speaks, "You want me to leave then? Is that what this is about? Your way of forcing me out?"_

_"Now you're putting words in my mouth. I only meant to say that you are free to leave if you are truly unhappy. You know I want you to stay."_

_"And next year?" Snape retorts, his voice raised once again. _

_"We will undoubtedly be having the same argument," Dumbledore replies with a defeated expression._

_"And who will you appoint to the post then? Perhaps you can convince Azkaban to let Black out for a year. A murderer would seem to be a fitting choice given the pattern," Snape sneers with a savage glint in his eyes._

_"Severus_—_" Dumbledore begins._

_Snape interrupts sharply, his tone mocking, "I suppose it's good to know you draw the line at Death Eaters having the post."_

_"Severus_—_" Dumbledore says sharply, his voice a warning._

_"What you must think of me!" Snape snarls now, spit flying out of his mouth. "If you'd rather appoint a dangerous monster to the position rather than me."_

_"Severus, That is enough!" Dumbledore shouts, slamming his hand down on his desk. "I am finished speaking with you about this matter. It is getting us nowhere. And for future reference, as Headmaster, I don't appreciate accusations of ineptitude."_

_Snape struggles to control his breathing and immediately lowers his eyes, as if remembering his place. "Of course, Headmaster," he replies in a low voice._

_But his thoughts are apparently not nearly so submissive…_

_'How pathetic you are. So powerful and yet completely unaware that I despise you with every fiber of my being. What a narcissistic bastard you are to think that I continue to swear my allegiance to you – you who think my life less than worthless. The day I see you dead will be the happiest of my life.'_

Dumbledore had seen more than enough. He disengaged him from Severus's mind so abruptly, Snape felt jarred by the release. He watched as Dumbledore made his way over to his favorite sitting room armchair and slumped down, apparently exhausted, looking every bit his age.

"I think you are more than ready, Severus," Dumbledore began in a whisper. "That was certainly…very convincing."

"Albus?" Snape inquired, moving to sit on the familiar red couch across from the elder wizard. He had a frown of his own and was clearly startled by the troubled look on Dumbledore's face.

The silence that followed was so uncomfortable that Snape was determined to break it, even though he had no idea what to say. Surely Dumbledore didn't think all of that was real?

"Albus, surely you don't think…"

"I know, Severus. Of course I know."

The dejection in Dumbledore's voice was truly frightening. Before Snape could think of a reply, Dumbledore continued in a voice so soft that Snape struggled to catch the words, "Your life is far from worthless to me, Severus."

"What?" Snape asked, his brow crinkled in confusion. Suddenly remembering his last overlaid thought, _'What a narcissistic bastard you are to think that I continue to swear my allegiance to you – you who think my life less than worthless,'_ Snape became desperate to correct Dumbledore's misperceptions. "Albus, don't you see…I was thinking about the Dark Lord. Those words were meant for him, not you!"

"I know that, Severus. I know that…"

But what Snape perceived as wounded feelings, Dumbledore felt keenly as guilt. Here he was preparing to send Severus back to a life of servitude to Voldemort, a life he had provoked once before. The recognition of this horrifying link, manifested all too well in the slippage of one man's memories for the other, was almost impossible to bear.

Still very troubled by Dumbledore's despondency, Snape insisted, "Those were overlaid emotions, Albus. I would never think—"

"Ahh, but now you're lying to me, Severus. Not all of it was tampered with, as you well know. You did once feel that way about me."

It was petty and even a little ridiculous, Dumbledore knew, to turn their attentions back upon the past, especially given all that was required in the present, but the idea that Severus had _hated _him, even once, long ago, left a burning ache in his chest that he could not understand.

In the meantime, Snape, who had been momentarily halted by Dumbledore's correction, commenced in reply with an honesty that shocked even himself, "If I ever felt that way about any of it, Albus, I can barely remember why except that I was a foolish arse. I made the worst mistake of my life when I yielded to my feelings of betrayal and rejection. Nothing could have played better into the Dark Lord's hands. I should have come to you."

"That may be the case, Severus, but you had good reason to be angry with me, and I daresay even to hate me," Dumbledore concluded with a sigh.

_I hated you because I loved you, you fool. I just didn't know it._

How Snape wished he could say something, to tell Dumbledore just that.

In the absence of words, and at a loss for what to do, Snape reverted to an old trick of Dumbledore's. He poured him a cup of tea, pushed it towards him, and urged his friend to drink.

"Albus, please have some tea," Snape pleaded.

For once in his life, Dumbledore did not seem the least bit interested in tea. Snape, feeling distraught and not a little alarmed, retrieved the proffered cup again and began urgently preparing Albus's tea for him. He gave a healthy squeeze of lemon and then added an obscene amount of honey. The perfect amount, Dumbledore noted, a twinkle in his eyes.

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_Author's note: _**First and foremost, apologies for my update speed. Unfortunately, I am beyond busy these days...as I am just starting a new job. I beg for your patience and consideration. While I cannot promise much of an improvement, my updates (while they may be infrequent) will not stop until the story is complete - that much I can promise.

I wonder sometimes if my writing is too subtle to the point of being unclear. For example...the meaning of what Albus extracted from Severus: "_His head sunk in a red pillow, fast asleep." _Clearly our dear Headmaster did not get it, but given that this is supposed to be a positive 'memory' of Albus, I hope you knew what I meant here. It eludes back to chapter 1...where Severus is fast asleep on Dumbledore's red couch post-confession. This couch/sitting room is his sanctuary and hence so has become the color red with Severus now associates with Albus. Too bad Dumbledore didn't get to see more. No telling what he would have seen next! yum

Once again, _((bear hugs))_ and _((unrestrained kisses))_ to all those who have reviewed. I'm the biggest kid when I see I've gotten a review for this story.

I want to once again thank my other half, my partner M, for her remarkable work on this chapter. Once again, she has outdone herself and pushed me to new heights.

I hope you all continue reading this story of mine. I simply adore writing it...if that doesn't sound too narcissistic. But something about this unrealized ADSS relationship completely infatuates me. I only hope I'm doing it some measure of justice.

The next chapter I promise (if I dare do that without disappointing) will be huge in terms of plot. It begins with Dumbledore waiting for Severus, the morning after Snape returns to Voldemort for the 'first' time at the end of GoF. Dumbledore is very worried - as he should be - because things are not too good for our Potions Master.

Please review and give the author a huge smile on her silly face!


	5. The morning after

**Title: **Unexpected Grace  
**Author:** Cocoa-Snape  
**Disclaimer: **I own nothing. Harry Potter belongs exclusively to JKR...she is a goddess. I am making no money from this.  
**Acknowledgement: **Thank you JKR for my 2 borrowed lines from GoF!  
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**Unexpected Grace **by **Cocoa-Snape**  
**Chapter 5: The morning after**

Albus Dumbledore sat solemnly at his desk, nibbling at the jammed toast the house elves had brought him for breakfast. He knew it was nearly 7 o'clock, having just checked the time a few minutes ago, but he took out and examined his watch again. While his 12-handed pocket watch may have been able to tell the Headmaster many more things than the time, it could not tell him what he really wanted to know at this very moment.

Dumbledore could feel the exhaustion in his tired body from missing a whole night's sleep – his mind, on the other hand, was racing still. It had been a catastrophic night to say the least. He had spent the first of it with Harry, who had relayed the nightmarish ordeal he had suffered at the now resurrected Voldemort's hands. Dumbledore had gently gathered as many details from Harry as he could in order to understand what had happened. But truth be told, the retelling had been more for Harry's benefit, as Dumbledore knew too well the dangers of having the boy hide from what had transpired.

Unfortunately, Harry's suffering had not ended in the graveyard. His abduction by Moody – who turned out not to be Moody after all – had further scarred the overburdened youth. The presence of an imposter in Hogwarts had forced Dumbledore to reexamine his ethical considerations regarding his use of subtle Legilimency. Sadly, he reflected, they were now at war again, and it did not do to make assumptions any longer.

Once he had made sure that Harry was settled in the hospital wing, under the nurturing eyes of the Weasley family and dosed with Dreamless Sleep Draught, Dumbledore set about making the necessary preparations. Despite his efforts, his meeting with Minister Fudge had gone as badly as he had anticipated. Following his conversation with Hagrid and Madame Maxine, he had spoken with Arthur Weasley and asked him to contact the relevant Order members. Sirius Black had gone off to secure his mother's house and to arrange for its conversion into the Order's new headquarters, as had been their plan.

However hectic the evening had been, by 2 am when the frenzy died down, Dumbledore found himself desperate for something to occupy his mind. All that he had left to do since then was wait…and worry about Severus, who had still not returned. After the tragic loss of one of his students – each of whom he considered his children – he now faced the rather alarming possibility that he could lose another, but this one, on his orders.

His mind could not help but drift back to the most difficult thing he had had to do in a very long time.

_'Severus, you know what I must ask you to do. If you are ready…if you are prepared…'_

_'I am,' Snape replied._

Dumbledore vaguely remembered staring at the door Severus had exited for many minutes before he had been able to compose himself. He had known that this was coming. So had Severus. They had plunged together through the labyrinth of alternate options – all were dead ends. And so they had prepared – urgent conversations over tea, hushed meetings in the halls, developing strategies and contingency plans. And of course there had been the months of Occlumency lessons. Each man was resigned to the gruesome reality that lay ahead. And yet, when the time had come, Dumbledore found he was unprepared as ever. More distressingly, Dumbledore knew Severus was little more ready than he.

No one else was likely to have noticed it on his Potions Master's perfectly disciplined countenance, but Dumbledore had seen the flicker of fear in his eyes. They were bound by the thread of uncertainty. Nothing assured; everything at stake. Both had been overwhelmed and had hesitated. Together and apart, they had both grieved the moment. They were bound and yet they were separated, each having his own role to play. Together and apart…Dumbledore wondered if this was a primer of things to come.

Dumbledore's oppressive thoughts were interrupted by the entry of someone past his outer wards. Sensing the hasty movements on his staircase, Dumbledore opened the oak door for his visitor with a wave of his hand. Hagrid came charging in, his face flushed, his manner flustered, his breath ragged.

"What is it Hagrid?" Dumbledore asked quickly.

"It's Professor Snape, sir. I took 'im to Madam Pomfrey. She told me to come get yeh."

"What happened?" Dumbledore asked, finding himself already moving down his stone steps, towards the infirmary.

"I don't know. Fang found 'im on the forest's edge. Looks like he was crawlin' towards the grounds."

"Did anyone see you?"

"No sir. No one's up yet. Not after las' night," Hagrid said, referring to what had been a very late night for all.

Noting that Hagrid was struggling to keep up with his pace, he spoke over his shoulder, "Hagrid, please go fetch Professor McGonagall and have her meet us in the hospital wing."

"Yes sir," Dumbledore heard Hagrid call distantly as he had already increased his gait.

When Dumbledore arrived in the infirmary, he found, not unexpectedly, that Severus was not in any of the beds in the main room. He made his way to Madam Pomfrey's office, which adjoined the private rooms in the back. As he made his way past the rows of sleeping warders, he hoped that Severus's absence here was more a sign of Madam Pomfrey's discretion than of Severus's condition.

But it was not to be. Without breaking his stride, Dumbledore waved the door at the farther end open. At that same moment, Madam Pomfrey entered from the other side. But she ignored him, grabbing instead a box from inside her desk drawer and an armful of potions from her cabinet. As she gathered the rest of her supplies, she said simply, "Wait here for me."

Dumbledore could tell from her behavior – cold and methodical – that Severus was in trouble. Though Poppy Pomfrey's hysterical fussing annoyed many a patient, it usually meant their condition wasn't too serious. When a real emergency arrived before her, she was all business.

"What's happened Albus?" McGonagall asked breathlessly as she entered the office with Hagrid close behind.

"I'm afraid, Minerva, that my knowledge on that point is all too limited. Poppy is seeing to him now and she has requested that we wait here in the meantime." As he said this, Dumbledore sank heavily into Pomfrey's chair.

"Does anyone else know?" McGonagall asked.

"No. And until we know what happened, that is as it should be."

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Dumbledore was aware that he appeared rather calm sitting motionless behind Poppy's desk, waiting for her return. But inside he felt just as nervous and terrified as Hagrid and McGonagall looked. Minerva was pacing in very tight circles given the narrow confines of the office. Her pace quickened every so often such that Dumbledore thought she might break into a run at any moment. Hagrid, on the other hand, who was seated in the corner in a chair much too small for him, kept standing up and muttering unintelligibly as if he'd forgotten something. But a moment later, he would sit back down just as abruptly, wiping his sweaty brow with his oversized handkerchief.

Poppy emerged, just under two hours later, exhaustion riddled on her face.

"Is he going to be alright?" Dumbledore asked immediately, getting to his feet.

"I don't know," she replied sadly.

Nothing could have prepared Dumbledore for those words. He stared at the medi-witch silently, but McGonagall cut in angrily, asking the question Dumbledore was too afraid to ask.

"What in Merlin's name does that mean? How can you not know?"

"I've done everything I can do for him at the moment."

Pomfrey noticed Dumbledore glancing at the door and she continued, "He's asleep right now. I've cast a charm to alert me if he wakes. The good news is that I was able to heal most of his injuries."

"And those were?" McGonagall asked. Dumbledore was suddenly glad Minerva was there, because he found it difficult to speak.

"Internal bleeding, multiple fractures, broken ribs, lacerations, a concussion," Pomfrey listed.

McGonagall gasped.

"All of which I've treated him for and unfortunately are not the greatest cause of concern at the moment."

"There's more?" McGonagall asked in shock

But Dumbledore had already guessed at it. He felt the knowledge viscerally as an aching wave that crested in an enormous lump at the base of his throat.

"He's suffering severe Cruciatus overdose. Based on the Healers I've consulted at St. Mungo's, they believe he was under the curse repeatedly, perhaps for minutes at a time."

"Merlin, no," McGonagall exclaimed, voicing what Dumbledore could not.

The unimaginable had occurred, and Dumbledore was left wondering how it could be so. They had taken precautions. He had given Severus an amulet to wear, a portkey of sorts, that would have transported him to safety at the slightest touch. They had prearranged it, just in case Voldemort had not believed Severus's pledges of loyalty and in the event Severus was too weak to Apparate or Voldemort had placed anti-Apparition wards that prevented his escape. Dumbledore could not understand why Severus had not used the amulet in the face of such torture, but realized sorrowfully that perhaps the effects had overwhelmed him – his mind, his muscles – such that he had been unable to activate the amulet around his neck.

With some reluctance, Dumbledore raised himself from this sea of questions, deep enough for any swimmer to lose himself. The situation at hand was too pressing, too urgent for anything less than his utmost concentration. And so Dumbledore shook himself from his musings about the causes of this tragic event, and instead focused his whole attention on the trials of the present and on the future he so desired, his friend's sanity and recovery.

"St. Mungo's has a bed waiting for him," Pomfrey continued. "They say we should move him there."

"What can they do?" Dumbledore asked, finding his voice again.

Pomfrey began hesitantly, "Well, at the moment, nothing more than we can. But he's going to need constant attention, Headmaster, and we don't have the staff for that."

Dumbledore and McGonagall followed Poppy's gaze outside the office into the main room, where Harry Potter, Fleur Delacour, Victor Krum and the real Alastor Moody lay. Other students had come in over the last two hours as well, mostly asking for sleeping and anxiety-relieving potions due to last night's events. Poppy's intern was handling things as best he could, but he was clearly outnumbered.

"I'll stay with him," Dumbledore said firmly, his voice suddenly strong.

"I'll help," Hagrid said, speaking up. Minerva nodded.

"I would love for Severus to stay as well, but…" Madam Pomfrey paused, thinking of the best way to delicately phrase these difficult words. "But he's going to need long term care."

"No," Dumbledore replied calmly.

Unsure if Dumbledore was disagreeing with her assessment or just the appropriate course of action, Pomfrey continued, "Headmaster, you need to be prepared for the fact that, in all likelihood, he won't pull out of this."

"I'm not sending him there, to be cared for by strangers," Dumbledore replied with almost icy indignation. "Absolutely not."

Dumbledore could see the medi-witch exchanging a long significant glance with his Deputy Headmistress. McGonagall turned and stared at him for a moment, before beginning, "Albus…I think perhaps we should listen to—"

Dumbledore did not let her finish. "It is out of the question," he said sharply, and perhaps louder than he had intended. "If I need to bring in a Healer for him here, then that's what I shall do. But I will not send him away."

In the face of the Headmaster's resolute manner, Pomfrey relented and continued, "Well for the time being at least, I can manage. I've consulted with a specialist at St. Mungo's on the treatment protocols. Physically, Cruciatus overdose requires several potions I don't routinely stock, some of which are very difficult to prepare."

"But surely the chemists at St. Mungo's can brew them for you to administer?" Dumbledore asked.

"That won't be necessary. I think I have everything I need."

"But you just said—"

"Severus brewed everything…3 months ago," Pomfrey explained.

"Oh my," McGonagall gasped. Dumbledore sat down – he suddenly felt unwell.

"As a precaution he said," Pomfrey continued. "He gave me a box of potions. I didn't even go through it then. He just told me I should have it on hand. I've already administered many of them. He seems to have thought of everything – all the required potions and then some. He even wrote up detailed instructions for their administration. Leave it to Severus to tell me how to do my job even in his condition," Pomfrey said with fond sadness.

After a long moment, Dumbledore looked up and asked, "Did the Healer you spoke with give any indication as to what we can expect?"

"Well, in cases like this, although there are not too many to go on, the patient is usually in and out of consciousness for a few hours. So far Severus seems to be following this pattern. I can't give him much more than the sedative I've already administered, because anything stronger would interact adversely with all the other potions I've given him."

"Is he in a lot of pain?"

"He seems alright…for the moment. While I've given him all that I can for pain, I don't know how effective it will continue to be. The Cruciatus interferes with the nervous system and wreaks havoc on the pain receptors. I don't imagine the next several hours are going to be easy on him, if that's what you're asking."

"And then?"

"Typically, patients with similar damage usually go into a coma once the brain registers the extent of the damage. That could happen anywhere from 2-12 hours from now."

"A coma?" McGonagall asked, her eyes brimming with tears.

"Believe it or not, it's a good thing. It's the brain's way of healing itself."

"So he'll heal?" Dumbledore asked hopefully.

Pomfrey let out a deep sigh. "He may never wake up."

"Oh dear god," McGonagall gasped anew, before falling into her chair, her head resting in her hands. Dumbledore was vaguely aware of Hagrid sobbing loudly in the corner.

"And if he does wake," Pomfrey continued, "he could be…well…_altered_. There will likely be permanent neurological damage."

Dumbledore was very much aware of what Poppy meant. Severus could end up like Alice and Frank Longbottom – they had suffered from the same curse. Dumbledore couldn't imagine the strong-willed, independent Severus Snape as a dementia-stricken invalid, or even worse, as a mindless automaton. The idea sent an icy chill down his spine.

"May I see him?" Dumbledore asked.

"Yes. I'll be in and out of course, but I think that it would be good if there was someone with him while he is still conscious. Perhaps the three of you can alternate shifts?"

"Of course," McGonagall said and Hagrid nodded with a sniffle.

"Thank you both," Dumbledore said, "but I'm going to stay with him…"

"But Albus…

Dumbledore raised his hand to interrupt. "I don't want to be there when Severus wakes up and finds out that I let anyone else see him in this condition." Dumbledore managed a weak smile as he continued his hopeful thought. "He will undoubtedly be furious with me."

McGonagall stared at Dumbledore for a long moment, perhaps trying to assess his sanity, and then she nodded. "If you are sure, Albus."

Pomfrey began again, "Headmaster, I know that you are familiar with symptoms of Cruciatus overdose. The next several hours will not be easy."

"I know."

"Beyond what you already know, you should be aware that I have placed a restraining spell on him so he does not hurt himself during the violent bouts of muscle contractions. I'd rather not use it, but again, I can't give him anything for temporary paralysis because that would counteract the effects of the potions I've administered to prevent muscle degeneration. Therefore, you may need to recast the restraining spell every so often if he begins to flail around."

"I understand."

Dumbledore followed Pomfrey as she made her way over to the private room. They were about to go in when she stopped him and glanced over to her office to make sure they were out of earshot before speaking.

"There is something else, Albus," she said in an anxious hush. "While Severus may appear lucid, I fear he is delusional."

"What do you mean?"

"He seemed to think I was his mother," Pomfrey said.

"I see."

"I thought you should be aware."

"I understand."

"I'll be in to check on him and to make sure he gets his other potions as he needs them, but do let me know if you need me before then."

"Alright."

Dumbledore watched Pomfrey make her way to the main ward. He waited for her to turn the corner before he placed his hand gently against the metallic door and slid is silently open.

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**_Author's Note:_** Please review. Thank you all for your patience...it is as always appreciated.

My other chapters have typically been a bit longer, but I felt this was a good place to break and if I had finished (with what will be the next chapter), this chapter would have been mega-long and it would have been many, many long weeks away from your eyes. So I decided to post here since I was happy with the way this ended on the page and I wanted to share it with of all you.

I want to thank all of my awesome reviewers (18 reviews for the last chapter, yay!). I appreciate all comments, but I must give most sincere thanks to those that in particular have encouraged me to pursue whatever vision I have for this story. Your faith in me is humbling.

I thought I'd start sharing with you my favorite thing in each chapter (why? Because this is my A/N ;). But I'd be interested to see if you all agree or liked different things. For me, it is the concept that I saw when I first read GoF, which I express here a bit more directly: the idea that while AD and SS are bound/together in this process, they are simultaneously separated by virtue of their distinct roles. And what does that mean for their future relationship? (Answer: it makes it yummy and angsty.)

Thanks again (always) to my partner M for her work in betaing this story, which I think may even be growing on her!

I think you all know what to expect from the next chapter. Albus goes to see Severus who is not doing well at all (huge understatement!). An excruciating several hours follow and Albus wonders if he'll ever see his friend Severus Snape again.

Please take a moment to review and feed the author!


	6. Never, Severus…never

**Title: **Unexpected Grace  
**Author:** Cocoa-Snape  
**Disclaimer: **I own nothing. Harry Potter belongs exclusively to JKR...she is a goddess. I am making no money from this.  
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**Unexpected Grace **by **Cocoa-Snape  
Chapter 6: Never, Severus…never**

The moment Albus Dumbledore stepped into the private room at the rear of the hospital wing, he felt as though he had entered another world. He could hear the distant sound of the students on the grounds, unaffected by the horrific events of last night. They were taking advantage of their long weekend – playing Quidditch, swimming in the lake – emitting jubilant sounds that contrasted sharply with the heavy air of despair and the unnatural quiet of this room. Dumbledore knew the sun was shining bright this mid-morning, but the room in which he stood was dim, the curtains drawn tightly over the windows.

With a wave of his hand, and not a little trepidation in his heart, he lit the candles on wall. What he had expected to see he did not know, but Dumbledore could not help but gasp at the sight of his Potions Master and friend.

"Oh Merlin, Severus…"

Snape was lying on a standard sized hospital bed, clad in a white nightshirt. His complexion, normally pale, was as white as the sheets spread over him. It served only to highlight the bruises and the deep cuts on his face, which seemed to have just recently stopped bleeding. Poppy had obviously cast a cleaning charm over him, but there were still small bits of matted dried blood in his dark long hair.

Although he appeared to be asleep, the last thing Severus was doing was resting. It was the artifice of medicine alone, a temporary reprieve from reality. His breathing was uneven and his body was twitching slightly. Dumbledore could see the magic of the restraining shield Poppy had cast that was containing his movements. Perhaps the most disturbing sight was Severus's expression – normally so practiced and strictly controlled – which now was so obviously pained.

Dumbledore took note of the magical intravenous drip adjacent to the bed that delivered the necessary potions directly into Severus's bloodstream by a complicated series of charms. The unit required constant attention to ensure that the charms were still functioning correctly, and therefore was typically only used in cases where patients were unconscious and unable to swallow the required potions.

Dumbledore spotted Severus's clothing lying in a heap in the corner and shivered at the sight. They were torn and mud stained and despite the fact that the robes were black, Dumbledore could discern the dull-colored swathes of blood on every visible surface.

Dumbledore, having lived long enough to know that the worst was not yet past, conjured himself a chair, sat down, and began to wait.

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Snape's sleep consisted of everything from fitful minutes where he mumbled incoherent gibberish to horrifying nightmares, where he clutched desperately at the sheets and screamed until his voice gave out. As he awoke from a particularly disturbing nightmare, his cry, "My Lord, please don't…" still reverberating in the hollow room, Snape opened his eyes fully for the first time.

"Shhh, Severus, it's all right," Dumbledore began, his hand gently patting Severus on the shoulder, making sure he was awake. "You're safe now. You're in the hospital wing."

Snape made a confused unsuccessful effort to move, to shift positions, or to sit up, perhaps to stand. He was still only semi-conscious and the invisible restraints rendered his normally placid expression a bewildered grimace of unparalleled proportion. For an infinitesimal instant, Dumbledore perked his ears and, hearing no trace of Poppy or anyone else in the corridors, promptly lifted the restraining spell. He could see some of the tension leave Severus's face immediately.

"Who are you?" Snape asked, squinting in Dumbledore's direction, confusion playing across his face.

"It's Albus…" Dumbledore replied, leaning closer to Severus so that he might see.

"Albus?" he asked uncertainly. "Albus Dumbledore?"

"Yes," Dumbledore replied with a smile.

"Do you know him?" Snape asked, now staring fully at Dumbledore as though he were a stranger.

"Yes, I know him," Dumbledore replied, seemingly unfazed by this development.

"Dumbledore…" Snape began, his voice reverential, "the most powerful wizard since Merlin…"

Dumbledore raised his eyebrows at this pronouncement, just as Severus's mood shifted sharply. Suddenly wary and anxious, he snapped, "Who are you? What are you doing here?"

"I'm visiting you, dear boy."

Snape looked around, apparently taking in his surroundings. He appeared utterly disoriented.

Dumbledore attempted to explain, "Severus, you're in the hospital wing…"

Without warning Snape grabbed the front of Dumbledore's robes as forcefully as he could manage given that his fingers were contorted and his hands were twitching severely. Despite this deficit, he latched onto the Headmaster's collar and pulled him down towards him, and began to hiss urgently, the fear unmistakable in his eyes. "He'll kill me if he finds out…"

"Shhh Severus, its okay…"

"You don't understand," Snape pleaded urgently. "The Dark Lord, he knows…he'll know how I feel…He'll kill me…"

"Severus, you're absolutely safe here. No one is going to harm you," Dumbledore reassured.

As if he'd forgotten his pleas from a moment ago, Snape abruptly released his grip on Dumbledore's robes and sank back into the bed. He looked up at the ceiling and exclaimed, "Albus…"

"Severus, I'm here."

Snape continued shouting into the air, apparently unaware of Dumbledore's presence, "I can't do it, Albus. I can't do it…"

"Severus…"

But Snape was ignoring him completely, looking right through him, in fact, as he spoke.

"I don't want to go back to him," Snape begged. Dumbledore stopped breathing. Snape continued, "You promised you'd protect me. Please don't send me back there…please."

It was as though a crushing weight had been placed on Dumbledore's chest. The oppressive ache only continued to spread as Severus went on, speaking to him even though he did not know he was in the room, "Don't you understand…he's going to kill me. He'll _know_! He'll see it in an instant! You can't imagine his rage when he finds out."

The contrast between Severus's firm stance on returning to Voldemort in their past discussions and his helpless frightened cries of the moment could not have been any more glaring. Or heartbreaking.

Dumbledore did not at once reply, nor could he have if he so desired. He was waiting for Severus to continue, waiting for Severus to tell him how very much he hated him for what he had done. To tell him that _he _was the reason he was lying in this bed, his lucidity comprised, his body beaten and broken.

Dumbledore did not dread those words, words that never came. Far from it, in fact. He yearned for them. At this moment he wished Severus was strong enough to hit him, to curse him, because that would have hurt less than staring at the fragile form in front of him and knowing he was in some way culpable in this.

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Barely two hours had passed since Dumbledore began his watch over Severus and he was already exhausted. Severus continued to float in and out of consciousness, never recognizing Dumbledore for who he was, but rather misaligning him with the evils of his past. He was bystander to ineffable terror. He was fellow tormentor. He was father, vessel of initial pain and original betrayal.

In each instance, Dumbledore gladly accepted his role and filled it with apologies and found that he could not apologize enough. At the end of two hours, he was physically and emotionally drained. And yet it was not from sitting in the chair next to the bed, nor anxiously pacing the room, nor casting the required immobilization charms, nor trying unsuccessfully to calm Severus through his fits. He was exhausted because he was not doing nearly enough and because he could do no more.

The time passed far from easily for Severus. His best moments consisted of disturbed sleep where he whimpered as his body twitched mercilessly. The remainder of the time when he was cursed with consciousness, his moans grew louder and louder as his muscles contracted painfully with a will of their own.

Dumbledore was distressed to see how rapidly Severus was deteriorating, his face now lined with pain more often than not. He asked Poppy if there was anything she could give Severus the next time she came into the room to check the magical IV. 'I've done all that I can for him, Albus,' she had said. She proceeded to explain how hard it was to treat motor neuron damage, and that any drug she might give Severus would only treat his symptoms, and what's worse, would inhibit any potential for recovery. What she said after that, if anything, was a blur to Dumbledore who had stopped really listening to her at that point. All he wanted was for Severus's torment to end.

But his wish was no sooner thought than it was interrupted by a fresh assault. Severus was awake again, wracked by another series of agonizing involuntary contractions in his back and limbs. Dumbledore quickly recast the restraining charm and did his best to try and calm Severus down.

Snape's eyes were fearful and distant. Tears were silently sliding down his cheeks, dampening his nightshirt. He strained to speak, his voice now completely hoarse from his screams.

"It hurts…make it stop…do something…"

Dumbledore grabbed his hand. "Don't struggle against the pain, Severus. You have to focus and block it out."

Severus remained unresponsive.

"Severus, listen to me, you know how to do this, my boy. Use your mind to dull the pain…block it out, bury it deep down. Try very hard for me, Severus." But Severus wasn't listening and Dumbledore could only stare at him helplessly.

"Make it stop…please. It hurtsss," Severus hissed.

"I know, my boy. I'm so sorry."

"Who are you?"

"It's Albus."

"Will you…will you get him for me?" Severus pleaded frantically, each stuttered word deliberately forced out between hiccupping gasps.

Severus cried out again, practically squealing in agony as another forceful contraction ripped through his back. Dumbledore squeezed Severus's hand tighter as his breathing became more and more labored. Gulping in air between the spasms, Severus managed to croak out, "Where are you, Albus?"

Almost without conscious thought, and with Severus's desperate pleas ringing in his ears, Dumbledore stood and released the restraining charm. Pulling back the covers, he carefully levitated Severus's body, which was now writhing violently in mid-air. Dumbledore quickly transfigured the metal bars into a headboard and laid down on the bed with his back propped up against a mountain of pillows he had similarly conjured. He carefully levitated the still thrashing body back down on top of him, so that Severus's back rested against his chest. Dumbledore folded his arms across Severus's chest, restraining his arms and threw his right leg across Severus's thighs to control his lower body.

As Severus struggled desperately for air, Dumbledore soothed, his voice calm and soft, "It's alright, Severus, breathe for me now. That's right, focus on my chest. We're breathing together, just feel my chest rising and falling. That's it…nice and slow, deep calm breaths, that's it. Good boy."

Dumbledore repeated this mantra over and over again as the contraction began to fade, and Severus's breathing slowly returned to normal. Dumbledore could feel Severus relaxing more and more with each passing second, his body becoming almost limp against him – the first true respite Severus had had in a long while.

The contrast was striking – only moments before Severus had been thrashing so violently Dumbledore had struggled to keep him under control. Now Dumbledore could only marvel at how Severus felt so fragile in his arms. And yet the strange thing was, there was no awkwardness in holding Severus like this. Just relief that perhaps he had helped to soothe Severus's discomfort, if only for a moment.

Transferring his control of Severus's upper body to one arm, Dumbledore tilted his head to the side and used his now free hand to smooth away the sweat soaked hair clinging to Severus's face. Severus's head had turned as well and when their eyes met, Dumbledore gasped at what he saw. Severus was looking at him – really looking at him.

"Albus," Severus breathed, a strange tranquility entering his face.

Recognition had dawned on Severus's face – sudden and forceful, unmistakable and brilliant.

Nothing could have prepared Dumbledore for the intensity of this moment. The force of the penetrating gaze being leveled at him, Severus's first acknowledgement of his presence. It was overwhelming. It was exhilarating and yet terrifying at the same time. Because there was a possibility that he might never see those eyes looking at him like that ever again.

"Yes, my boy," Dumbledore managed, his voice unsteady, "It's Albus."

"You came, Albus…you came."

With a tear sliding down his cheek into his beard, Dumbledore managed, "Of course I did, Severus. Of course I did."

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The next several hours were filled with extremes as effects of the Cruciatus became more and more pronounced. The pain seemed to come in waves, with Dumbledore soon learning the horrible rhythm of it, even as the respites became fewer and farther apart.

One moment Severus's whole body would shake uncontrollably, his limbs flailing wildly. And in the next, he would stiffen like a board, his muscles contracting so violently his back would bend backwards so that it appeared it might snap in half.

And the moments of sleep that fell in the interim, blessed and few, were all too often interrupted by the cruelty of a consciousness that left Severus screaming until exhaustion consumed him.

At times, Severus would be sweating through his gown from fever, his skin cold and clammy, and minutes later, he would be shivering from cold even as his body felt fiery hot.

And at other times even these horrific signs of life would apparently dissipate. Dumbledore would be listening for the sounds of Severus's labored breathing when they would suddenly be replaced by a silence so eerie that Dumbledore had to cast a fluttering charm, suspending a feather just inches from Severus's mouth, to keep himself from shaking the already fragile form before him.

Dumbledore was there through it all, tending to Severus with utmost care, securing Severus to his very self during the most violent episodes, holding him gently through the persistent twitching, and trying to soothe him every moment in between.

The first time Poppy Pomfrey came in the room and saw the Headmaster lying in the bed with Severus, she was a bit surprised but said nothing. And Dumbledore offered no explanation. He knew there was no other place he should be now, except here – tending to Severus, seeing him through this anguish.

Dumbledore did his best to keep Severus comfortable. Through the fevers, he was there with cooling or warming charms as they were needed. Through the sweat of the night terrors, he was there with drying charms. And through the embarrassment of an uncontrollable bladder and a convulsing stomach, he was there with charms to clean. Dumbledore was there through it all. He was both protector and nurse, but most importantly he was friend – there to hold the shaking hysterical Severus – there to calm him into sleep with his voice, the only thing he seemed to respond to.

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Those few hours were, quite possibly, the most arduous of Dumbledore's life. But just when Dumbledore couldn't imagine things getting any worse, the seizures began.

The first one caught him completely by surprise. Severus's body went still for a moment before stiffening and beginning to convulse. His eyes rolled back inside his head and a stream of drool began to flow from his mouth. Dumbledore almost reflexively rolled Severus onto his side to sustain the passage of air but this was too much. He had been a rock. Now he felt the panic rise up in him, felt the adrenaline course through him as he gripped Severus as tightly as fingers, hands, and arms would allow to prevent him from flying off the bed.

After it was over, Dumbledore vaguely remembered screaming for Poppy, and angrily demanding that she do something…anything. But she only conveyed her sadness that there was no more she could do. Dumbledore's anxiety was not assuaged by the fact that the medi-witch seemed just as rattled as he was by the magnitude of Severus's seizures.

The seizures were, indeed, positively frightening in their intensity. Every time one would start, Dumbledore felt the fear grip his heart in a stronghold. And he would have to remind himself to breathe, even as Severus did not. Every spasm, every gasp, every twitch, tore him up inside. And every tremor shook him to the core.

Severus remained in this agony for much longer than Dumbledore could have anticipated. Over 12 hours in total, and he wondered if it would ever end. Dumbledore was so absorbed in comforting Severus, whispering to the stricken man so intently, he had stopped noticing Poppy's presence as she checked Severus's magical IV.

Dumbledore was, in fact, Severus's only solace in the face of this agony.

In lieu of pain relieving potions, Albus whispered comforting words into Severus's ear and attempted to soothe the man with his touch. He brushed his hand over Severus's cheeks, forehead, and through his hair, pulling the sweaty tangles away from his face, as he rocked him gently in his arms.

In lieu of muscle relaxants, Dumbledore propped Severus up and rubbed the throbbing, twisted muscles in his back. After hours of learning the worst spots and what to do, Dumbledore found that the massages seemed to alleviate at least part of Severus's suffering.

In lieu of sleeping potions, Dumbledore cradled Severus in his arms and coaxed him gently into sleep with his voice. He could sense that Severus was relaxed by the sound of his voice and so he did not stop talking. He murmured futile relaxation charms, whispered tales of utter nonsense, and reminded Severus how to breathe every time he seemed to forget.

Now, as another seizure ended, Dumbledore held Severus through the residual convulsions.

"It's almost over, Severus. Breathe for me…slowly now. Deep breaths…just like me. That's it…slowly…"

Once Severus had resumed breathing, Dumbledore cast a strong heating charm on Severus's back to loosen the constricted knot of muscle. A few drying and cleaning charms later, and Dumbledore was easing Severus back up against him, embracing him in warmth. Severus sighed at the momentary respite. Aware that Severus was watching him, Dumbledore looked down and caught Severus's eyes.

"Hello there," Dumbledore said gently, smiling.

Snape was silent for a moment and then whispered, "I love you."

Dumbledore stared at Severus in stunned silence for a long moment. He was about to speak, but Severus beat him to it.

"I love you, Albus," Severus repeated.

"I love you too, Severus," Dumbledore replied, with barely a thought. "Now please try and get some rest."

If there was any time for Albus to wonder about Severus's coherence in that moment, it was not now. Severus continued in almost a sob, "I'm so sorry, Albus."

"Whatever for, dear boy?"

Snape hissed, "I'll do anything…" this time through clenched teeth as another contraction wracked his body. Dumbledore held on tightly and Snape continued, "…anything for you…please don't give me to the dementors…"

"Shhh, Severus, stop talking. There are no dementors here."

But Snape was not to be deterred, his eyes were glazed over from the pain, but he continued to force out the words. "I'll tell you his secrets, just don't send me away…I'll stay at Hogwarts if you want me to."

As the spasm lessened and Severus's body began to relax, Dumbledore attempted to calm the trembling man, stroking his forehead as he said, "Severus, it's alright. You need to calm down, my boy."

"Don't send me away…" he breathed hysterically.

"I'm not going to send you away, Severus."

Severus was panting heavily. Even though his body had calmed, his eyes were filled with anxiety, "I know you don't love me…you shouldn't love me."

"Shhh, Severus, stop talking nonsense now…"

"I'm horrible," he whimpered. "I don't deserve you…I don't deserve anything good…"

"Now you are really talking nonsense, my boy. I can't think of anyone more deserving."

Dumbledore continued to soothe Severus with his voice, smoothly prodding him into some much needed sleep.

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As the hour grew very very late, Dumbledore was grateful that Severus's seizures had finally stopped and the contractions began to occur with reduced frequency. As a result, even the consistent twitching did not keep Severus awake, and consciousness plagued him less and less. Albus took it as a good sign and so was therefore saddened to learn that the truth of the situation was far from what he had presumed it to be.

The next time she was in the room, Poppy explained the reason Severus's convulsions and spasms had ceased – his neurons were no longer sending signals to his muscles. 'It means they're shutting down.' She told him that soon, he would slip into a coma.

And just like that the unconsciousness Albus had welcomed, even willed for Severus to take away his pain, became a terrifying enemy, at once intangible and inescapable.

Dumbledore could sense Severus stirring slightly against him.

"Albus?"

"Yes, my boy." To think, this could very well be the last time he ever spoke with Severus again.

His voice thick with pain, Severus whimpered, "Albus?"

"I'm right here, Severus," Dumbledore managed, his voice trembling.

There were silent tears streaming from Severus's eyes as he looked up at Dumbledore. "I'm scared, Albus," he whispered, clutching tightly at Dumbledore's robes.

As Dumbledore gently wiped the tears from Severus's cheeks, he could see the fear in those dark depths and he knew that somehow Severus was aware of what was happening.

"It's going to be all right, Severus. I promise."

And even as he said it, Dumbledore had no idea how he could keep that promise or if he could somehow make it true by wishing it. He may have been a wizard of tremendous power, but there was nothing he could do. Here in this moment of significance, he was powerless. This was something even his magic could not fix…could not undo.

In the absence of spell or incantation, Dumbledore brushed the hair away from Severus's face, leaned down and placed a gentle kiss on Severus's forehead.

When Dumbledore met Severus's gaze once more, Severus pleaded, "Please don't leave me, Albus. You won't leave me, will you?"

Dumbledore pulled Severus closer to him, tightening his protective hold around Severus's body before vowing, "Never, Severus. _Never_."

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**_Author's Note_**: I apologize profusely for the delay. Take consolation in the fact that it was harder on me than it was on you. I was writing dreadful stuff for weeks and deleting it and getting very frustrated.

This chapter was absolutely excruciating to write. That's almost funny because I intend it to be excruciating to read…(in the right way :). I hope it left you emotionally drained by the magnitude of Severus's pain. And Albus's desperation to take it away. My favorite parts of this chapter are the first time Severus recognizes Albus and the very end.

As always, huge thanks to all my reviewers! I am so grateful for all your comments!

And inexpressible thanks to my partner, M, who helped me turn this chapter into exactly what I wanted even when I didn't think I could.

One of my readers asked me to explain my title. As usual, I went overboard with a long explication. Check out my LJ (see my profile page for the link) for that...and some possible plot hints. You might find it interesting.

But first...please please leave some feedback for me. Thanks very much.


	7. Not now…not ever

**Title: **Unexpected Grace  
**Author:** Cocoa-Snape  
**Disclaimer: **I own nothing. Harry Potter belongs exclusively to JKR...she is a goddess. I am making no money from this.

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**Unexpected Grace **by **Cocoa-Snape  
Chapter 7: Not now…not ever**

In the distance a voice sounds – so quiet, so muffled, as though resounding from the depths of an unknown sea. But, in fact, it is the man who perceives it who is submerged – lost in a deep void, in total darkness.

Severus Snape faced that consuming darkness with much trepidation a few days before. But he soon embraced the relief of that profound sleep that took away his agony.

When he first began that journey away from consciousness and into that inescapable night, he had felt overwhelmed by the oppressiveness of it, the heat and pressure of a darkness too close for sight. Terrified, he struggled against it, the panic his mind felt commanding his body.

Even a moment before, he felt nothing of the old resistance. Felt, in fact, on the cusp of that final abyss, acceptance and even warmth. But out of the depths of his very self, there came this voice. No. Not so much a voice as a feeling, spreading throughout his mind a tacit message, a prompting to desire, a reminder of memory itself.

And with a great feeling of recognition Severus realizes that this must be him – that this must be his own will to live, one he thought he had abandoned. He marvels at this revelation, startled that there can still be a part of him that wishes to fight, some part of him still alive and awake under that mass of stagnant neurons and crippled flesh.

But to that voice, growing more insistent and enticing, Severus adds another. In the darkness he may be alone, but he is without memory, without pain. He has been sinking deeper and deeper into the darkness for many days now, and he has grown comfortable here. He abandoned the light some time ago…and it has long forgotten him.

But even as it terrifies him to contemplate the possibility of continuing, of _living_, he is enraptured in this unfamiliar sensation, in its possibility. He knows he cannot ignore what it offers. Another chance.

Its message is unrelenting, whispering into his subconscious, triggering something inexplicable inside him.

Two voices, waging battle in a single mind. Perhaps it is real. Perhaps it is nothing more than a figment of his imagination – a group of neurons firing, trying to keep his mind, keep _him_, alive. A mass of chemicals, residual neurotransmitters still signaling futilely in his brain. Some people claim they see a bright light as they pass. Perhaps this is his bright light. His delusion.

It grows stronger and stronger, even as his body grows weaker and is mere hours away from finally succumbing.

Unwavering, the voice continues its urging. It does not promise. It does not command. It does not lie. It is simply there. And for the briefest of lucid moments, Severus wonders if there are decipherable words to this hum he hears. Whatever it is, he feels its guiding force. And he is listening. And he has no idea why.

Soon, he has lost all concept of time, listening to its message, muddled, yet clearer than ever before. It resonates into and through the depths of his soul, reawakening his mind although his body remains 'asleep.' Penetrating his psyche. Leading him away from the darkness. Tantalizing him with a sort of bliss that is difficult, if not impossible to describe, or to reject. Pleading for him to heal, to wake up.

Despite himself, Severus Snape obeys.

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Severus Snape awoke alone. He could tell by the sterile smell and the white sheets that he was in the hospital wing, and he wondered for a long moment why he was here instead of in his own bed. But feeling the pronounced twitching of his extremities, he suddenly knew why. As he opened his eyes, he was aware of a muted alarm sounding in the distance. He barely had time to contemplate its meaning before Poppy Pomfrey burst through the door.

The medi-witch met his eyes, and he returned her intent stare for a long moment before finally managing, his voice scratchy, "May I help you?"

"Oh, Severus, I'm so stunned…I mean relieved…I mean…oh my, Severus." Remembering herself, Poppy rounded on her patient and began conducting a neurological evaluation.

"Stunned?" Snape asked, wincing slightly at the bright light being flashed in his eyes.

"Severus, you've been unconscious for days now. We were sure, I mean we were afraid you wouldn't wake up. And," Poppy cast an amazed look that took Snape in from top to bottom and spoke as if to herself, "relatively undamaged to boot."

"Undamaged?" Snape inquired disbelievingly, as he indicated his arms, which were caught in a constant uncontrollable tremor. "Based on the condition of my body, I assume that you are referring to the fact that I am not a vegetable."

Poppy nodded. Her voice was incredulous as she finished her exam. "This is astounding, Severus."

"Something for the record books, I'm sure," Snape mocked.

Taking in his doubtful tone, Poppy explained, "Severus, your condition had been worsening significantly, and after so many days in a coma, we were losing hope that—"

"A coma?" Snape asked. "Oh yes," he amended, suddenly remembering the darkness that he had been in. "How long?"

"You've been here for five days."

"Five days…" Snape was trying to count in his head what day that would make it. It had to be Monday at least. Dumbledore had probably already mobilized the Order and began the arrangements for setting up Headquarters. He knew he didn't need to worry about the Dark Lord, at least for the time being. Snape felt sure that he would take advantage of his clandestine return and avoid drawing attention to himself with further incidents. Monday…that would make it the first day of the last week of classes. _Oh no_, Snape groaned mentally. Everyone would know by now. They would be gossiping in the corridors, whispering behind his back, conjecturing…

"And my classes?" Snape asked.

"Don't worry, Severus. It's the first day of classes since the Tournament ended. Professor McGonagall is covering for you today."

"Please tell me you're joking. Minerva knows as much about Potions as I do about Transfiguration."

"Oh for heaven's sake, Severus, she'll manage just fine. It's not like it's Trelawney."

"What about my N.E.W.T. students? We were supposed to review," Snape asked with increasing agitation.

"Most of the N.E.W.T.s ended last week, Severus. The Potions N.E.W.T. was this morning. It was delayed 3 days because of…well, you know," Poppy said in a near whisper.

Snape's solemn grunt had to suffice for an acknowledgment.

"You need not worry about your N.E.W.T students. Albus took care of them personally. He reviewed the relevant material with them last night before he left." Seeing that Snape was about to interrupt, she added, "And yes, Severus, he found your notes."

But Snape didn't care about his classes anymore. He wanted to know where Albus was. "Left? Where is he?"

"He left this morning for London to meet with the Minister," Poppy explained, rolling her eyes sympathetically at Dumbledore's plight. "And to attend to other things as well, I'm sure," she added.

That was an understatement if Snape had ever heard one. He knew Dumbledore had dozens of things to take care of, working to implement the plans he had been making for the past several months. He was now shouldered with the heavy burden of leading the Order of the Phoenix through the war effort without the Ministry's help.

Poppy interrupted Snape's thoughts, "Speaking of the Headmaster, I'll have to notify him right away. I'll send Fawkes."

"What?" Snape attempted to grab Poppy's sleeve, but was unable to latch on, his hand twitching too violently to be useful. "Fawkes? Are you out of your mind? You can't disturb the Headmaster now."

"He left specific instructions to be summoned if your condition changed, Severus. Trust me, he'd want to be informed."

"I don't care. It would be lunacy to interrupt him!" Snape snapped, angered at the idea of Dumbledore being disrupted by something so inane as his condition.

"He won't be happy when he finds out I didn't send for him right away. I made him a promise."

"At least give him some time to finish his Order meeting," Snape pleaded. "You know very well what he's doing is more important."

"All right, Severus," Poppy reluctantly agreed, seeing how upset Severus was. "Let me alert Minerva, and she can tell us when his meeting was supposed to be. I'll send Fawkes afterwards."

Poppy was gone for less than a minute. When she returned, Severus was staring at his shaking hands, willing them to stop. "I'm afraid it's going to take a few weeks to get your muscles functioning fully," Poppy remarked. "But the fact that you can move at all is a very good sign."

"Hmm." Suddenly remembering, Snape asked, "What about my Slytherins? Don't tell me Minerva's dealing with them as well?"

"Professor Sinistra's got them covered. You really need to relax, Severus."

"So everyone knows then?" Snape asked with displeasure.

"The students and faculty think you're away on personal business. No one but Albus, Minerva and Hagrid know."

"Hagrid?" Snape asked in confusion.

"Yes. Fang found you."

"Oh yes. I seem to remember that."

"And is that the last thing you remember, Severus?"

"I think so. It's very vague," Snape struggled to recall any events of the past several days. "I remember appearing in the forest. I'm not sure if I Apparated or if it was assisted. It must have been assisted," Snape corrected his thought process, "…I barely had the strength to crawl out of there."

"Do you remember anything else?" Poppy asked gently.

"The meeting." Snape said it almost before the recollection had to time to dawn in his own mind and an icy chill ran down the length of his body. As an afterthought, he added aloud, "But it's a bit fuzzy at the moment."

"It's alright, Severus. Don't think about it now. Right now you need to rest."

"Should I remember more?" Snape asked as he heaved his legs off the side of the bed with a great deal of effort.

"Where do you think you're going?" Poppy exclaimed from across the room, her hands full of potions.

"I need to get moving if I'm going to teach tomorrow," Snape replied, panting through his effort.

"Severus, get back in bed this instant!"

"It's just a little bit of twitching," Snape replied as he hoisted himself out of the bed in a deliberate movement and then crumbled to the floor, his legs buckling underneath his weight.

As Poppy levitated Snape back into bed, she reprimanded, "I cannot believe you just did that! Your muscles are useless at the moment, Severus and if you don't take care of yourself they'll remain that way. Besides, the last thing you need to be worrying about is teaching. The Headmaster said he would see to your classes personally for the remainder of the week."

As Poppy tucked the blankets around him, Snape realized that, for once, the medi-witch was right. He was absolutely exhausted, his heart was racing, he was breathing in labored gasps from the effort he had expended in moving, and he was overcome with waves of nausea.

Sensing his state, Poppy said, "Here take this," and thrust a potion at him.

Like someone tasting a fine wine, Snape first sniffed the potion before drinking it down. With eyes narrowed, he asked, "November's brew?"

"Yes," Poppy replied. "I still have no idea how you do that with all the batches you brew. Now then, let's get started on treating your muscles. I didn't want to risk giving you anything while you were unconscious."

Snape recognized the jar of yellow liquid right away. "I don't want that. I won't be able to move."

"You aren't able to move anyway. And this will at least stop the involuntary spasms for several hours. Your muscles need the regeneration time."

"But the dose?" Snape asked, squinting at the bottle.

"The dose is high, but it's only a once daily administration. Besides, you'll be able to sleep better without the tremors." Taking in the doubtful look on his face, she added, "Unless you want to stay in this bed all summer long?"

"Give me that," Snape demanded, and downed the potion.

"And what's that you have in your hand. Is that for pain?"

"Yes."

Snape shook his head. "But that might adversely affect the nerve regeneration…"

"Severus, are you going to tell me how to do my job?" Poppy questioned sternly.

"Yes."

Poppy smiled. "I'm so happy to see you're yourself, Severus."

Snape huffed.

"Now, let's start with these and then we can argue the merits of pain relievers and sedatives later, alright?"

A few moments after swallowing the required potions, there was a sharp knock at the door. McGonagall came striding into the room.

"Severus? Oh my, you're awake!" she exclaimed.

"Wonderful. Another woman fussing over me!" Snape said under his breath.

McGonagall was beside herself with joy. "This is a miracle, Severus. An absolute miracle!"

"I find that doubtful."

"We thought you were gone to the world. What happened, Poppy?"

"I have no idea. He's extremely lucky."

As McGonagall came closer and began tucking the blankets around Snape, he let out a frustrated sigh as he realized he was unable to push her away. He began, "Poppy, you neglected to mention all the risks of that potion. I may go mad not being able to stop people from hovering over me."

"What is he talking about?" McGonagall asked.

"I've given him something to paralyze his muscles from the neck down. He can't move."

"Yes. So would you be so kind as to stop your infernal tucking!" Snape snapped.

"Whatever you say, Severus," McGonagall replied with a smile, unfazed by his attitude. "You're just lucky Hagrid isn't here. He'd be sobbing all over you."

"Giants?" Snape asked seriously, his voice dropping to a whisper.

"He left last week," McGonagall replied.

"What happened with—" Snape began to ask in a hushed tone.

Poppy cut in, "That's enough talking for now. You need to rest, Severus."

"I've been in a coma for days. Do I really need more sleep?"

Poppy's glare served as her answer.

Snape would never have admitted it, but he couldn't remember ever feeling more exhausted. And now that his muscles appeared at long last to be at rest, his limp body was melting into the bed, begging for sleep. He wondered how that was possible. He had just woken up.

Noticing his drooping eyelids, Poppy explained, "It's perfectly normal for coma patients not to wake for extended lengths of time, Severus. I'll expect you'll be sleeping quite a lot over the next few days. It's nothing to worry about." And then Poppy added with a stern voice, "And I'm sure your leap out of the bed didn't help."

"Severus!" McGonagall admonished.

"Well I heard you had my classes," he murmured, too tired to finish the rest of his thought.

"Don't worry about any of that, Severus," McGonagall said. "Just focus on getting better. Thank Merlin you're alright. We've been worried sick about you."

"I'm sure," Snape managed sarcastically, his eyes closing involuntarily.

"Albus especially…" McGonagall whispered.

Severus Snape had no idea, as sleep claimed him.

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As the day grew into night in London, Dumbledore was concluding his meeting with Arthur Weasley and Sirius Black. That morning, Dumbledore had had a less than successful meeting with Cornelius Fudge, which ended very much as their last meeting had on the night of Voldemort's return. But most of his day had been spent here, in Grimmauld Place. Dumbledore had just finished casting the necessary spells and enchantments on the Order's new headquarters an hour ago.

He was in the middle of telling Arthur that he would need to meet individually with each of the members of the Order when Fawkes appeared, gliding through the air down the long corridor and into the kitchen where they sat. Dumbledore stood sharply, apprehension gripping his throat. A second later, the phoenix emitted a harsh cry and disappeared in a burst of flame.

"Gentlemen, I have to go. Thank you both for your efforts. I'll be back when I can to finalize the arrangements."

"Of course," both men replied, stunned by the curious interruption.

In the next second Dumbledore was gone in a completely silent Apparition. He appeared with precision on the edge of Hogsmeade, less than ten feet from the perimeter of the anti-Apparition wards on the Hogwarts grounds. It was still quite a distance from the castle, and he walked briskly, thinking about Severus's condition.

Over the days that Severus was in the hospital wing, Dumbledore had stayed with him day and night, leaving only to shower and change. Poppy nagged him constantly about eating and sleeping, but he ignored the medi-witch. The last thing he wanted was to chance being away in a moment when Severus might need him. That was why he was extremely reluctant to leave Severus this morning for his business in London. But he knew it had to be done – although Dumbledore was certain that Voldemort would not risk exposing himself yet, he knew it would be unwise to let this assumption dictate his preparations.

He was loath to leave, but Poppy assured him, for what must have been the tenth time, that she would contact him immediately if Severus's condition changed in any way. So Dumbledore had left this morning, delaying his exit just long enough to give Severus's seventh year N.E.W.T. students some words of encouragement before their exam. Now he was being summoned back to Hogwarts. And the worst part of it was, he had no idea why, no idea what to expect.

Dumbledore cursed himself for not having activated the floo in Grimmauld Place as of yet – then he might have spoken with Poppy immediately. And it was too dangerous to send any written communication, as it might be intercepted. The only thing he had to go by was Poppy's horrifying assessment of Severus's condition the evening prior. When Dumbledore had asked about the possibility of improvement, the medi-witch silently shook her head, unable to verbalize the horrible truth she thought lie ahead.

A thousand questions raced through Dumbledore's mind. What had happened? Had Severus's condition gotten worse? Had he woken? Was there brain damage? Or perhaps, Severus had succumbed, had…Dumbledore stopped himself from thinking about it any further. He was not prepared to accept the worst. Or even imagine it.

Instead, Dumbledore chose to think about the words they had exchanged during Severus's brief periods of consciousness, painful though they were.

Severus had spoken the words first.

They had developed a strong friendship, Dumbledore knew, and it was gratifying to hear this evidence of the bond they shared. And it was not surprising that Severus would want to express that in what he perceived as his last hours. Hardly surprising at all, Dumbledore thought.

'_I love you.'_ Powerful words indeed. Yet it was not Severus's words that occupied Dumbledore's mind. It was his own.

Dumbledore had told Severus he loved him. He had said it as a routine, almost instinctive, return of the sentiment. After all, it seemed only appropriate given Severus's condition – he would have said anything to comfort and calm his suffering friend. But that reason for saying those words was neither here nor there. The simple fact was that it was true.

Of course he cared very deeply for Severus. Over the years, Severus had become his most trusted confidant and best friend. It was only natural to feel such a deep protectiveness for this person who had trusted in him in the crucial and most trying time in his life.

And so it had felt only fitting, only right, to say _'I love you.'_ But he had not been prepared for the effect those words would have on him. It had felt oddly liberating. As if he had confessed. Releasing a secret held close for too long. But this had been no secret. Only a truth never before uttered.

Expression can have a powerful effect, no doubt. And Dumbledore felt the impact of this exchange with an intensity that was oddly ineffable. But Dumbledore knew one thing for certain. He could not bear to lose Severus. Not now. Not ever.

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As Dumbledore made his way hurriedly into the hospital wing, the first thing he registered was the emptiness of the place. At the end of the ward, he passed through Poppy's office before heading towards Severus's room, surprised that he hadn't met the medi-witch. Dumbledore could hear the awkward resounding of his own footsteps in the too silent corridor. This was not right. Dumbledore felt the knot in his stomach extend all the way to the back of his throat.

With a clammy hand and a racing heart, Dumbledore opened the door to Severus's room. He could see the shape of his friend, lying still in the bed – too still, Dumbledore thought at once. Even in a coma his body had been twitching. Dumbledore could barely breathe, he felt his chest begin to ache and a painful constriction wrenched all the remaining air from his lungs.

He tried to move, but his feet felt rooted to the floor. This could not be happening. Yet, it was. And they had gone, Dumbledore thought, leaving Severus all alone. Were they already making arrangements, or had they been as he felt now…too weak to stay.

"Oh Severus…" he gasped out through what sounded very much like a sob.

Dumbledore thought he must have imagined the slight rustle of a sheet, and then a sound like a voice.

"It's about time you got here, Albus," Snape said, his eyes still closed.

"Severus?" Dumbledore breathed, standing like a man unseeing in a dark room, too uncertain to move.

Snape opened his eyes. "Where have you been?" he asked, feigning annoyance. "And don't give me the whole saving the world excuse…it's getting old."

Dumbledore had never loved the sound of Severus's sarcastic whip more. And he knew he could not in a million years have imagined that voice! "Oh Merlin, Severus. You're all right!" Dumbledore practically leapt across the room to Severus's side.

"Except for the fact that I have no motor control and Poppy took it upon herself to paralyze my muscles, I'm splendid."

Pomfrey, who had just entered the room, said, "He's complaining already, Headmaster. I think that's as good a sign as any."

"When did this…?" Dumbledore began to ask, his voice incredulous.

"He woke up about three hours ago and he's already giving me orders, the first of which was to delay sending Fawkes."

"Will he make a full recovery?" Dumbledore asked.

"I anticipate so. That is, if he behaves and doesn't try anything foolish again such as getting out of bed."

"I'm in the room, you know," Snape drawled.

"We are aware," Dumbledore beamed.

"How could we forget?" Pomfrey asked sarcastically.

As Poppy attended to Severus, Dumbledore asked a barrage of questions about Severus's condition and the process of recovery ahead.

Snape was soon tired of listening to the medi-witch's monologues about his muscle contractures. He interrupted, "Albus, Poppy told me you conducted a review session with my N.E.W.T. students. Thank you."

"If the complexity of their questions are any indication, Severus, they should do very well. I did my best to answer. It has, after all, been some time since I've studied Potions."

"I'm sure you did just fine with them," Snape replied kindly.

"Oh my!" Poppy exclaimed. "Perhaps I was wrong. Perhaps his personality is affected, Headmaster," she quipped. "Should we expect a kinder, gentler Severus from now on?"

"Dear Merlin, I hope not," Snape huffed as Pomfrey gathered the empty potions bottles and left the room.

Dumbledore chuckled, conjured himself a chair next to the bed and sat down. He could not have expressed how pleased he was to see those dark eyes alertly watching him. The two said nothing for a long moment.

When Dumbledore spoke, his tone was so gentle, it was disarming. "It was very considerate of you to wake up for me, dear boy."

After the briefest of pauses, Severus replied, "I aim to please, Albus," his feigned sarcasm belied entirely by the unmistakable softness in his eyes.

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**A/N: **Thanks to each and every one of my reviewers! Your comments for the last chapter were so very kind - and appreciated! Writing this fic sometimes gets rather overwhelming for me, so it's very nice to get feedback along the way, especially your emotional reactions to the chapters. Thank you again. And in case you are curious, I would guess this is roughly the half-way mark of the story.

For those of you into the details…yes I know in canon there is no mention about Snape missing the last week of classes, but I will attempt to address that in the next chapter.

Again, inexplicable thanks to my partner, M, for her beta work.

So two things I tried to make obvious, but will reiterate since they are important to the future plot... Severus has no memory of the events in the previous chapter. And Albus attributes Severus's 'confession' entirely to friendship and nothing more, though we know differently.

My favorite parts of this chapter are the beginning…Severus's mind waging battle, deciding whether to live. And more so...Dumbledore's still confused reflections on those 3 important little words, his own confessed 'secret' of sorts, however foreign and hazy the idea is to him still. But at least it's becoming clearer to him!

Please be so kind as to take a moment and leave your comments.


	8. A bright spot in the gloom

**Title: **Unexpected Grace  
**Author:** Cocoa-Snape (aka CocoaSnape)  
**Disclaimer: **Harry Potter belongs exclusively to JKR…she is a goddess. I am making no money from this and I intend no copyright infringement.

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**Unexpected Grace  
**by **CocoaSnape  
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**Chapter 8: A bright spot in the gloom**

When Severus Snape began to awake the next morning, he did not feel nearly as rested as a man should after 16 hours of sleep. He became vaguely aware that there was a restraining charm holding him in place, as his body seemed to be trembling with a will of its own, yet he remained, for the most part, still. He quickly realized, too, though his eyes were still closed, that he was not alone. Lethargically, Snape managed a glance through half-lidded eyes in the direction of his not entirely welcome guest. Truth be told, Snape was not, nor had he ever been, in the mood for visitors. But at the sight of Albus Dumbledore, his body abandoned its state of lazy wakefulness and would have bolted to attention had such a movement been possible.

The Headmaster was lying in a rather elegant chaise lounge at his bedside and had apparently been asleep. With Snape's abrupt movements, he too began to stir.

"Good morning," Dumbledore said, waving his hand to release Severus's restraining charm. "Or should I say afternoon?" Touching the breast pocket of his robes where his watch resided; Dumbledore amended, "Ah, yes, afternoon."

"I woke you," Snape began in apology.

Dumbledore waved his hand dismissively. "I'm sorry for dozing off, Severus. It's not much of an excuse," Dumbledore said, pointing at the stacks of papers surrounding him, "but the mail since last week has become downright unmanageable. I've been catching up on it for the better part of 5 hours."

"You've been sitting here for 5 hours?" Snape asked in surprise.

"I may have stayed the night. I've been working for 5 hours. Surely, you can't expect a man of my age to work all night, now can you?" Dumbledore quipped with a bright smile on his face.

Snape's eyes were now as wide as saucers. "That really wasn't necessary, Albus," he breathed out through his incredulity.

"I know it wasn't," Dumbledore replied simply. "But I like to delude myself that you sleep better with me watching over you."

Snape could not believe Albus had slept in the hospital wing…for him. Little did Snape know, Dumbledore had been doing just that for the past several nights, ever since his initial return.

Sensing Severus's shock, Dumbledore tried to ease the younger man's discomfort. "It was rather comfortable actually. I think I shall have to get one of these for my study," Dumbledore said, gesturing to the chaise lounge.

Eyeing Severus's quivering form, Dumbledore spoke with marked softness in his voice. "How are feeling, my boy?"

"Fine."

At Dumbledore's dubious expression, Snape amended reluctantly, "Tired, if you can believe that. And my back is rather sore." In actuality, the ache of his body was so profound that Snape was afraid to move. His head was throbbing, his muscles felt as though they were twisted in knots and he thought for certain his back would snap in half if he breathed too hard.

Dumbledore was not at all fooled by Severus's rather mild admission of discomfort and placed a vial of pain-reducer against Severus's lips. It did not escape the elder wizard's notice that Severus gulped it down without question or comment. "I should let Poppy know you're awake, Severus. She has other potions to administer to you I'm sure."

Snape stopped Dumbledore as he moved to get up, "Please don't. Not yet." Pomfrey's fussing could wait, he thought, especially as the potion began to dull his pain. It wasn't much, but any bit of relief was sorely welcome. Snape continued, "I need to know what's going on."

Dumbledore whispered something and a moment later the chaise lounge morphed into a large armchair, and Dumbledore's mail flew neatly into a stack onto the table in the corner.

With a nod from the Headmaster, Snape began asking his questions. He had many – about the Order, about what Dumbledore had been up to, about how the plans had been executed. After receiving answers to his most pressing questions, Snape knew it was his turn to share information and promptly turned the topic to his first meeting with Voldemort.

Dumbledore raised his hand to stop him. He did not think it was a wise idea to enter into this particular discussion just yet, especially since there appeared to be no urgent need for it. It was bound only to upset the infirmed man.

"There's no rush, Severus. You just woke up… you should rest. We can talk about it in a few days when you're up to it." Dumbledore realized that had been the wrong choice of words almost immediately.

"Up to it?" Snape asked harshly, his voice clearly indicating he was affronted by the accusation that he might not be. "I'm up to it now," Snape insisted.

"My mistake, Severus. I didn't mean to imply that you weren't," Dumbledore lied. "But why don't you at least have something to eat first. You're weak yet," Dumbledore said, well aware that he was grasping at straws in an effort to put this off. But he was very worried about how this conversation was going to go.

"I'm not hungry, Albus," Snape said firmly and launched immediately into a description of the events that had transpired several nights before, beginning with his Apparition at Voldemort's side.

Dumbledore was keenly aware that Severus's recounting was rather cursory at best. Severus laid out who was present at the meeting, relayed details about Voldemort's new body and skipped straight to his assessment of whether Voldemort believed him or not. Conspicuously absent were details about what had been spoken between him and the dark wizard and how precisely Severus had come to be so near death. And Dumbledore knew immediately by Severus's omissions that he wasn't at all ready to face this yet, not ready to remember.

The very last thing Dumbledore wanted was to add to Severus's distress. Taking a deep breath, he knew he would have to choose his next words very carefully.

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Poppy Pomfrey's charm alerting her to any changes in her patient's vital signs began to sound. A quick look told her that Severus's blood pressure was sky-rocketing. As she hurried towards the back of the hospital wing to her patient's room, she thought perhaps the charm was malfunctioning. The wing was quiet and she knew the Headmaster was there. But as she turned the corner and stepped into the room, passing then through the silencing charm Dumbledore had cast, she was suddenly inundated by Severus's shouts, which to her seemed nearly incoherent.

Snape had propped himself up against the headboard and his eyes were wide and dark with something unreadable.

Dumbledore was speaking in a low but very firm voice. "Severus, I'm sorry, but this is not up for discussion."

"No, Albus…you won't do this to me," Snape exclaimed in anger.

"What the devil is going on here?" Pomfrey snapped.

"I'm sorry, Poppy," Dumbledore began. "This is my fault…we were discussing Severus returning to Voldemort and—"

"Returning?" Pomfrey interrupted, her eyes wide with horror. "Have you lost your mind, Albus?"

Realizing Poppy had misinterpreted him, Dumbledore explained, "I told Severus unequivocally that he would not be going back."

"What?" Poppy asked, now utterly confused as to why her patient appeared to be so very upset at that.

"Have you not heard me?" Snape roared, his voice still too scratchy and hoarse to be as loud as he intended. "He believes me, damn it…"

"You _think _he believes you, Severus," Dumbledore pressed. "And your instincts are almost always right, but I cannot let you risk you life again on that belief."

"You will not make that decision for me," Snape spat, his traumatized body heaving from apparent fury.

But all Dumbledore saw was fear.

Dumbledore stole a quick glance over at Pomfrey and immediately read the urgency in her expression. Severus's heart was racing and this was dangerous for a patient in such a fragile state.

Dumbledore immediately back-pedaled and spoke in a voice so calm it rivaled Fawkes's calming trills. "You're absolutely right, Severus. The decision is yours to make, not mine."

Snape eyes widened slightly. He hadn't been expecting to win that easily. Little did he know, he hadn't. "Now, we will discuss this at a later time," Dumbledore continued, "and I promise you that we will come to a decision together. I'm sorry, my boy. It was wrong of me to give you that ultimatum. I was just worried."

At Snape's subtle nod, Dumbledore turned to the medi-witch and said, "I think you may leave now, Poppy. I promise there will be no more disturbances."

"I'm holding you to that, Albus," she said sternly before leaving.

Dumbledore was relieved to see Severus's breathing and pulse slowly returning to normal. As the elder wizard took his seat, he contemplated how badly he had misjudged Severus's reaction. He had completely underestimated the degree to which Severus needed to feel useful – to the Order, to Hogwarts. Still unable to fathom the possibility of sending Severus back as a spy under any circumstances, Dumbledore thought perhaps if he could find some other significant role for Severus, that might appease him. But for the time being, Dumbledore felt it wise to relent in his firm stance, if only for Severus's sake.

Snapping the Headmaster out of his thoughts, Snape spoke, his voice persistent, "I'm certain he believes me, Albus."

"Severus, stop," Dumbledore replied. "Answer me this. Is my assumption correct that Voldemort will avoid any overt action, preferring to remain in hiding for the time being?"

"Yes, I believe so, but—"

Dumbledore interrupted, "And is there anything you _need_ to tell me now that cannot wait a few weeks?"

Snape thought for a moment and then replied, "I suppose not, but—"

"Then I will hear no more of this now. Your health is my number one priority and it should be yours as well." Before Snape could reply, Dumbledore added, "You will rest and devote yourself to getting better and you will not think or speak of this until Poppy deems you ready."

"She won't ever do that," Snape grumbled.

"I will discuss it with her. But as you yourself said, there is no urgency in this," Dumbledore reminded Snape gently. "We can discuss our options for going forward in a few weeks time."

"What's to discuss? I'm going back, Albus, whether you give me permission or not," Snape blurted out in frustration. _Oh shit_.

Dumbledore raised his eyebrows slightly and Snape cringed inwardly at the rudeness of his own words.

As Severus lowered his eyes in contrition, Dumbledore shook his head. The last thing he wanted was for Severus to feel censured, but he also knew that, strangely enough, his stubborn friend required permission to focus on his recovery.

"We will discuss this," Dumbledore continued, "when Poppy consents to it and not one moment before." In a calm but stern voice, Dumbledore added, "Do I make myself clear?"

"Yes, Headmaster," Snape replied meekly.

Dumbledore reached over and grabbed Severus's shaking hand. "Albus," Dumbledore corrected gently.

Snape nodded imperceptibly. While part of him wanted to tell Albus what had happened – if only to get the inevitable ordeal over with – in truth, he was glad to have this reprieve. From the little he had told Albus already, he knew that it was not going to be an easy task relaying the details of that night, particularly since he could barely think of it without feeling ill. Perhaps, he reflected, waiting was the prudent thing to do. Time would distance him from what had happened – and when one was a spy, that was always a good thing.

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The next morning Snape woke in Dumbledore's presence once more. The Headmaster was yet again surrounded by his usual deluge of mail.

"Please don't tell me you stayed here again, Albus," Snape said with a great deal of unease.

"Don't be silly, Severus," Dumbledore replied as he stood to fetch Severus's pain-reducer. "I just came down this morning." What Dumbledore failed to mention to Severus was that the only reason he hadn't stayed was due to Poppy's influence. Dumbledore had previously ignored the medi-witch's attempts to coax him back into his quarters. But last night, Poppy had finally convinced him by insisting that his presence would only make Severus uncomfortable. With that bit of information and the knowledge that Severus seemed to be out of critical condition, Dumbledore slept in his own bed for the first time in nearly a week.

Snape sighed as he felt the potion work its magic on his beaten body. Unfortunately it did nothing for the muscle spasms which left him unable to do much of anything. Eyeing the water at his bedside he realized there was no way he could reach for, let alone hold a glass steady.

Suddenly remembering yesterday's argument with Albus, Severus knew he needed to say something about his behavior. But it had been a long while since they had had anything resembling a row, and Severus wasn't sure what to say. With marked apprehension, he began, "Albus…about yesterday…I was rude. I should not have argued with you."

"Why ever not?" Dumbledore asked. "I do enjoy our arguments, Severus."

Snape raised his eyebrows at that pronouncement.

"Especially when I win," Dumbledore added with a gleam in his eyes and a bright smile that melted Severus's unease.

A few moments later, Dumbledore noticed that Severus was giving the glass of water at his bedside at furtive glance.

"Are you thirsty, Severus?"

"I suppose," Snape admitted reluctantly.

Dumbledore stood and lifted Severus's shaking body until he was half-sitting. He tipped the glass against Severus's lips and took note of the fact that Severus drank nearly all of its contents without stopping.

After gently placing Severus back down on the bed and resuming his seat, Dumbledore spoke. "Severus, as much as I know you despise the idea, you are going to ask for whatever it is you want for the next couple of weeks." Determined to break the tension emanating off of his Potions Master, he continued with a smile, "Despite my keen sense of perception, I can only anticipate so much. Unless, that is, you'd like me to read your mind." A pause. "I could do that you know," Dumbledore added with a twinkle.

"Merlin, have mercy," Snape replied with a smirk on the corners of his mouth.

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Snape spent the majority of those first few days in the hospital wing sleeping. Dumbledore took careful note of the fact that Severus required little if any prompting to sleep or to take his pain-reducer among his other healing potions. Whether it was because he was too weak to argue or in too much pain to, Dumbledore did not know. Nor did he care, as long as Severus was in bed and following Poppy's orders.

As Dumbledore eyed the visage of his sleeping Potions Master and friend, he reflected once more on the twelve or so hours of consciousness Severus had suffered after his return from Voldemort before he had finally slipped into a coma. Terrible hours in which Severus had, in his delirium, seen and spoken to him as villain, father, and friend. And Dumbledore found himself exceedingly relieved that Severus had no memory of it.

First and foremost, he was glad Severus did not remember the agony he had been in. The younger wizard had enough pain to contend with in the now, Dumbledore knew, without having to think on that excruciating ordeal as well. But perhaps more significantly, Severus would undoubtedly find the situation mortifying.

Dumbledore keenly understood that Severus was far too private, too reserved a man, not to be discomfited with the whole of what had transpired during that time – both the close physical contact that had been required between them and the emotional rawness of those hours.

But perhaps, Dumbledore was most relieved that Severus did not have to agonize over the amorous sentiments he had uttered in delirium and fear. Or, for that matter, Dumbledore's own reply.

With a heavy heart, Dumbledore realized now that Voldemort was back, Severus would have enough to worry about.

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The morning of the Leaving Feast, Severus's fifth day of consciousness in the hospital wing, he insisted he be released so that he might attend.

The Headmaster urged Snape back into bed. "Severus, I don't believe you are quite ready to leave the hospital wing," Dumbledore said tactfully. That was an understatement to be sure. Snape could barely sit up, let alone walk to and attend the Leaving Feast. And furthermore, Dumbledore couldn't imagine why he even wanted to.

"Now, Severus, tell me what this is about?"

"How will it look if I'm not there?"

"It will look like you are away on personal business, which is what everyone thinks already."

"Stop being naïve, Albus. You're going to announce the Dark Lord's return in a few hours. You don't think my absence will be conspicuous?!"

"You're afraid they'll think you're a Death Eater?" Dumbledore asked.

"Don't be silly," Snape huffed, "they already think that. I'm worried about the few halfway intelligent idiots who will figure out the truth."

Dumbledore knew that while that may have been true in small part, Severus was largely concerned with the idea of people suspecting that he was too weak or too injured to teach. He tried to convince his Potions Master that these things didn't matter, but Severus was unrelenting.

Dumbledore thought it best not to mention that the whole notion was ridiculous from a practical perspective. How could Severus even sit up through the meal? But Dumbledore knew if it came down to it, Severus would take any manner of potion (at likely risk to his well-being) to stabilize him for just long enough to put in an appearance, rather than let rumors fly about his absence.

With those thoughts in mind, Dumbledore considered his predicament. He could make Severus stay in the hospital wing for the moment, now that Severus was incapacitated and needed his help. But Dumbledore knew all too well that once Severus was strong enough to walk (or hobble for that matter) the tenacious wizard would not be so easy to reign in. And keeping him in the hospital wing bed for the duration of his recovery would be no easy feat. So Dumbledore decided to play his trump card and offer Severus an incentive he knew his Potions Master would not pass up.

"I'll make you a deal, Severus…" Dumbledore began and explained his offer to the younger wizard.

Once Dumbledore had finished, Snape looked at him suspiciously and said, "Let me get this straight. You're promising me a time turner to go back and attend the Leaving Feast when I'm recovered."

"On the condition that you remain in this bed and do everything Poppy asks of you until she clears you medically to leave," Dumbledore said in gentle reminder.

Snape scowled. "Then I'll be in here all summer!"

"A few weeks would be a better estimate I believe."

"A few weeks!? I'll go mad," Snape snapped.

"Severus, do you want the time turner or not?"

Suddenly realizing what this offer meant, Snape asked, "Wait a moment, Albus. If I can't use it until Poppy releases me, then I'll have to go back in time a few weeks. The time turner's not approved for traveling back that length of time."

Dumbledore replied, "Not officially, no."

"So you'll—" Snape began.

"Break the Ministry rules? Yes. Between us, of course."

"But how—" Snape started to ask.

"We will discuss the details when the time comes."

"But won't—" Snape tried again.

"I have a charm to mitigate the effects on your body's circadian clock," Dumbledore explained.

"Really?" Snape asked in marveling astonishment.

"Yes. Now do we have a deal, my boy?"

Snape thought for a long moment and then replied strategically, "If I'm going to be traveling back a few weeks anyway, I should take advantage of that fact and teach my last week of classes as well."

Dumbledore smiled. He had fully expected Severus to bargain with him. "Done," Dumbledore replied.

Snape's eyes widened at Dumbledore assent to his request. It was followed quickly by a sharp look of dismay. "Damn," Snape said. "If I knew you were going to be this easy, I would have also asked for the review session with my N.E.W.T. students."

Dumbledore chuckled. "I'd be happy to consent to that as well."

"And a few meals," Snape pressed further. "I don't want any rumors."

Dumbledore gave Severus a stern look. "You're rather pushing your luck, aren't you, dear boy?"

"The air of invincibility never hurt a Death Eater, Albus," Snape said seriously.

Dumbledore paused for a moment and replied thoughtfully, "Perhaps you are right, Severus."

A moment later Pomfrey entered the room and Dumbledore exclaimed happily, "Poppy, I have some excellent news. Severus will be obeying your every request for the next few weeks."

"I'll believe that when I see it," Pomfrey retorted.

"We've come to an arrangement," Dumbledore explained.

"Oh really? Well then," Pomfrey continued, "it's time for your potions and then a nice long nap for you, Severus."

Snape scowled at the idea of another nap. At Dumbledore's raised eyebrows, he said, "I never agreed to be nice about it, Albus."

Dumbledore chuckled as Snape began downing his potions.

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As Dumbledore watched Severus fall into a much needed sleep, he wondered briefly if he'd made the right decision. Although time turner use was always a risky proposition, Dumbledore consoled himself with the knowledge that it would have been far riskier to not make this deal; Severus would likely have done more damage by pushing himself too hard, too fast, too soon. This way at least, Severus would stop dwelling on the time he had missed and hopefully devote himself fully to his recovery.

Moreover, Dumbledore was determined to do whatever he could to make sure that Severus did just that. Notwithstanding his promise to follow Poppy's orders, Dumbledore knew that the coming weeks would be difficult ones for Severus. He was not the type of man who handled being confined to a bed or being reliant on others well.

Despite Severus's protestations otherwise, Dumbledore recognized that he would need company.

And Dumbledore found he was more than happy to oblige.

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Severus Snape wondered why Albus was spending so much time with him.

Pomfrey was in and out, of course, scanning him incessantly, performing healing spells when they were needed, and, on occasion, rubbing toxic-smelling potions into his muscles (oh, the indignity of it all)! He would have complained about the smell had he not brewed them himself.

But by and large Albus was the one who took care of him. His body was too incapacitated, his hands too unsteady, to do the most mundane of things. So Albus did them. Everything from delivering his potions to helping him to the bathroom. From assisting him with his physical therapy to feeding him. The list was nearly endless.

But Albus did a great deal more for him than simply attending to these daily necessities. He provided the sorts of comforts Snape would have never expected.

Albus was incredibly generous with his time, and he did everything to spare Snape from boredom. The elder wizard brought new reading material every day – books, magazines, and to Snape's great surprise, Potions journals. And Dumbledore would read to him for hours. Albus had even taken the liberty of obtaining a few new subscriptions to some of the most obscure (and fascinating!) Potions publications. Snape knew Dumbledore could not possibly have been interested in most of these articles and he had said as much, but Dumbledore dismissed his concerns and insisted he rather enjoyed the reading.

In between manuscripts, Dumbledore would encourage him to nap. Snape detested the fact that he was constantly tired even though he was lying in bed all day. But the torment of taking naps was mitigated by the fact that when he woke, Albus would offer him food and tea, and they would read some more.

Of course his infirmity did enrage him at times. Whenever he was in a particularly foul mood, Dumbledore always had the most audacious story to tell him. Snape would inevitably accuse Albus of making up the story. But Dumbledore would always insist it was true. And before long, Snape would be so enraptured by the tale, he could almost forget he was confined to a bed and barely able to move.

As much as Snape hated – no, loathed – having Albus see him in such a vulnerable state, attending to him like he were a child, the simple matter of it was, he would have gone mad if it hadn't been for Albus. He was the sole bright spot in the gloom that was the hospital wing.

From his bed, Snape stared out at the panoramic view of the forest and Hogsmeade in the distance. Well not so gloomy anymore, Snape reconsidered. Dumbledore had taken it upon himself to change the stone walls into a large expanse of windows on two sides of the room. It was lovely, Snape thought. When Dumbledore had performed the transfiguration, he'd only grumbled that the room was now too bright. But looking out over the expanse of forest, Snape knew he wouldn't want it any other way.

With the exception of nighttime, Dumbledore had barely left his side. That was until today. The Headmaster had gone to London very early in the morning to solidify the Order's wards and to meet with some Order members.

Snape had thought this rare opportunity for privacy would be a welcome one. But he found strangely enough that he'd rather grown accustomed to Albus's company. Not to mention the fact that he was beginning to realize how difficult it was fending for oneself in the state he was in. The problem of the moment was attempting to drink the tea the house elf had just brought him. He could have called for Poppy, of course, but he would have rather died of thirst.

A simple _Wingardium Leviosa_ would have made the situation much easier, but he was strictly prohibited from using magic until he was recovered. For the third time, Snape tried to steady his hands enough to grip the cup in between his palms. His body, however, would not cooperate, and the cup shook, rattling loudly against the saucer, before finally tipping over on the tray. Frustrated beyond measure, Snape cursed loudly and swatted his fist at the cup, causing it to fly across the room and shatter at the Headmaster's feet.

"Albus," Snape exclaimed in surprise. Feeling extraordinary foolish for acting out like a child, he stammered, "I'm sorry…I didn't see you there."

Dumbledore, however, seemed quite unruffled by the outburst. "It's quite alright, Severus. I'm sure it must have done something rather horrible to deserve that," he said with a twinkle.

Without a word, the cup lifted off the floor and reassembled itself in Dumbledore's hand. "Let me pour you some more tea, Severus," Dumbledore offered.

"It's fine. I don't want anymore," Snape protested somewhat nervously.

But Dumbledore had already begun to pour a fresh cup of what he soon found to be Earl Grey. Knowing that Pomfrey had forbidden black tea, Dumbledore asked with raised eyebrows, "What's this?"

Snape, for his part, simply replied, "I thought you were away for the rest of the day."

"I finished early. But my absence has no bearing on the fact that Poppy said no caffeine for you, Severus."

"Those herbal blends she's been giving me are revolting," Snape complained with a look of displeasure.

Dumbledore snapped his fingers and Dobby appeared in an instant. "Dobby, please bring a pot my mango herbal blend, enough for two. I think you'll enjoy it, Severus." A pause. "Have you been sleeping today?"

Snape sighed in frustration. "For Merlin's sake, Albus. Need you even ask? It's all I ever do anymore!"

"Poppy said that's perfectly normal. Your body requires significant regeneration, Severus."

Snape grunted something unintelligible.

Moments after the tea appeared, Snape leaned back into the pillows Dumbledore had fluffed for him and watched, in amused fascination, as Dumbledore busied himself with preparing the tea. Snape had always known that Albus had a strange mania about how his tea was made. But over the past two weeks, Snape had learned that Dumbledore seemed to find particular relish in the act of preparing tea for him. Snape typically enjoyed his black with little or no sugar, but he couldn't pass up the chance to watch Albus measure a spoonful of honey with a critical, almost calculating eye.

Snape was broken out of his reverie by Dumbledore asking, "What are you smirking at, my boy?"

"You, of course."

Dumbledore smiled. He started to say something, but was interrupted by a sharp pop, signaling the house elf's return. "Thank you, Dobby. Please also bring some sandwiches and some hearty soup for Professor Snape."

As Dobby made his exit, Snape asked, "And how do you know I haven't eaten?"

Dumbledore stared intuitively at his friend and asked, "Have you?"

"No!" Snape admitted with exasperation. "But that's besides the point. You need to stop coddling me, Albus, or I'll be stuck in this bed for—"

Dumbledore chose that precise moment to press the teacup to Severus's lips. Snape rolled his eyes but drank and admitted with some prodding that the tea wasn't half-bad. He grumbled something about it probably being better if he were drinking it himself. Although Dumbledore told him he was being silly, Snape was growing rather frustrated of having to depend on others – namely Albus – to help him with these everyday tasks.

Snape knew that Albus must have been long tired of this as well – Merlin knew he was not an easy man to take care of! The very last thing Snape wanted was to become a burden to the Headmaster, and he was just that. It was time he started learning how to feed himself, among other things. Dumbledore had spent too much of his precious time with him already in Snape's own estimation.

When the food arrived some minutes later, Snape decided to make an effort to eat the soup on his own. He was starving, and even if half the soup ended up on the floor, he didn't care – he was going to handle this himself. Snape's contemplation of a strategy for eating the soup was sharply interrupted by Albus shoving a spoonful of it into his mouth.

He swallowed reflexively and growled irritably, "I can feed myself, you know."

Dumbledore didn't bother to contradict him. "Of course you can, Severus. It's just faster this way."

Snape grumbled and said not unkindly, "You're patronizing me. Don't think I don't know it."

"Just a little," Dumbledore teased. "You're doing very well, Severus. Poppy has been amazed with your progress."

"Oh yes, I'm just doing splendidly. I can't even feed myself," Snape exclaimed.

"But that isn't permanent and you know that. What does it matter if you're on the mend for a few weeks?"

After eating half a sandwich and being fed soup for what seemed like an eternity, Snape tried to grab the spoon from Dumbledore, but ended up knocking its contents onto his nightshirt. "Damn."

"Severus, let me…"

Snape reached for the napkin on the tray, but his hand convulsed, causing him to spill the remainder of the soup onto his lap. "Bloody hell!"

Dumbledore quickly cleared up the mess. "It's alright, Severus."

"Alright?" Snape snapped. "I'm a fucking invalid!" Barely a tick later, he added softly, "I'm sorry, Albus."

"Severus," Dumbledore began consolingly, "You are too hard on yourself. There is no reason to rush your recovery." Snape grumbled something under his breath, but Dumbledore ignored it and continued, "I'm here to help you, my boy."

"Yes. I'm sure you have nothing better to do than to tend to me day in and day out," Snape said with self-deprecating sarcasm.

"No, I don't actually," Dumbledore replied.

Snape stared at Dumbledore with wide eyes. His immediate impulse was to protest, but he was promptly silenced by Dumbledore, who had raised both his hands up in front of him.

With a wiggle of his fingers, there appeared in Dumbledore's hands two glossy, resplendent issues of the cutting edge magazine _Potions Aficionado_. Dumbledore enticingly held each out in turn to Severus and asked, with a bright smile and a gleam in his eyes, "Now then, which shall we read today?"

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**_Author's Note: _**I offer my profuse apologies for the long wait. Thanks for sticking with me despite the delay and for all your amazing reviews last time. Kisses to you all for your kind words and your patience!

I had some serious crises regarding this chapter. I won't bore you with the details, but I eventually ended up with a chapter so out of control, I had to stop writing and split what I had intended to be one chapter into two. Part of my dilemma was how to discuss Voldemort (don't fret...I'll get to him later...sort of) without losing the gentle moments between Albus and Severus which are, to me, the very crux of this story. In the last sequence, I try to convey a strange sort of familiarity between them. They remain still so far apart and yet this experience is obviously a transformative one, more so for Snape. It's subtle (and it's supposed to be) and here I am whacking you over the head with it. Sorry.

On an important note: You must all take a moment and check out my **new story**, '_Much Madness is Divinest Sense_,' which is posted here. It's AD/SS, but unlike UG, this one is a comedy and I think you will find it very entertaining. I hope you give it a try.

Also, by popular request, I am happy to place anyone who asks by email on my email update list for this or any other story.

I look forward to your comments as always. Thank you for taking the time to read and review.


	9. Tell me why

**Title: **Unexpected Grace  
**Author:** Cocoa-Snape (aka CocoaSnape)  
**Disclaimer: **Harry Potter belongs exclusively to JKR…she is a goddess. I am making no money from this and I intend no copyright infringement.

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**Unexpected Grace  
**by **CocoaSnape  
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**Chapter 9: Tell me why…**

To Dumbledore's delight, Severus was becoming less and less agreeable as his days in the hospital wing wore on. Initially he had been, for the most part, too tired, too ill to argue. This sudden obstinance was nothing less, Dumbledore felt, than a sign of Severus's impending recovery.

This belief was fully confirmed near the end of the Snape's second week in the infirmary, which could, somewhat cheerfully, be described as the most difficult yet.

When Dumbledore entered the hospital wing that morning he could hear the shouting from well down the hall and sped up his pace to see if anything was the matter. When he rounded the corner into the doorway of Severus's room, he was taken aback by the scene that met his eyes.

Severus was standing for the first time near the foot of his bed, his legs shaking so forcefully, Dumbledore thought he was sure to collapse in the next instant. The evident weakness of his form contrasted sharply both with his face, which was twisted into a determined glare, and also with his voice, which echoed menacingly in the room. Dumbledore's eyes went immediately wide at the obscenities crossing his lips.

"Listen here, you son of a bitch…" Pomfrey whirled on Snape.

Dumbledore's eyes widened further. He had been meaning to intervene, to scold Severus for his remarks, but the medi-witch's red-faced expression and the vehemence of her words made him realize that Poppy was giving as good as she got.

"You nearly died," she continued, "and now you're—"

"Spare me your pathetic exaggerations," Snape cut in derisively. "If I was such a lost cause," he shouted disbelievingly, "I would have been shipped to some corner of St. Mungo's for study."

"The Headmaster was adamant you remain at Hogwarts," Pomfrey retorted.

"Oh," Snape said, suddenly somewhat mollified by Poppy's words.

But the medi-witch continued, "Against my judgment mind you. And I'm beginning to wish he had listened to me. Then I wouldn't have the headache of your defiance to deal with day in and day out!"

"You have the gall to blame the absurdity of your demands on me? I won't stand for this. I meant what I said before," Snape pronounced, his voice suddenly low, "I'll stun you in your sleep if I have to…"

"You can threaten me till you're blue in the face, you self-righteous ar—"

"Are you two quite through?" Dumbledore asked sharply from the doorway, surprising both Snape and Pomfrey by his presence. Having suddenly deduced the cause of the trouble between them, he felt it time to intervene.

Turning his attention to Severus first, he said firmly, "Severus, sit down this instant. You're going to injure yourself."

Snape looked just about ready to snap back at him, but seemed to think better of it and sat, watching Dumbledore warily for his next move.

"Poppy," Dumbledore continued, "please give Severus back his wand. He is right. He should not be without it…for any reason."

Snape could not help looking vindicated.

"But, Headmaster, he isn't recovered enough to be using magic regularly. And he wasn't heeding my warnings. I was simply trying to help."

"Of course you were," Dumbledore replied reassuringly. "And Severus knows that as well, I'm sure," he added somewhat sternly while eyeing Severus.

Snape grumbled something in reply, but quieted down when Pomfrey reluctantly handed him back his wand.

"Severus, now that you have your wand," Dumbledore continued, "you will listen to Poppy and not use it except under extraordinary circumstances. I trust that is clear?"

Vexed that Dumbledore seemed to be waiting for a response, Snape gave a subtle nod.

Now it was Pomfrey's turn to look smug.

"Alright then," Dumbledore said amiably, trying to shake off the feeling that he had just settled an argument between two of his children, "I think after that, some tea is in order."

"Oh right. So you can drug me again?!" Snape said in an exaggerated huff. Too many of his teas had been laced with calming draughts of late.

With a twinkle in his eye, Dumbledore replied, "I don't believe that will be necessary. You look just about ready to pass out on your own, my boy."

Several minutes later, just as Snape was finishing his cup of herbal teaPomfrey burst in with a tear stained face.

"Severus, I'm so sorry for all the horrible things I said," she began remorsefully. "Can you forgive me?"

"I'll do my best," Snape muttered. To Dumbledore's nudge, Snape added with a sigh, "I suppose I was a bit too…_frank _myself."

"Oh Severus!" Pomfrey exclaimed. "Apology accepted!" And with that, she threw her arms around him in a forceful hug.

"Poppy," Snape growled, "if you wish to keep this fragile truce between us, don't _ever _hug me again."

"Understood." She let go and continued, "And if you do anything to impede your recovery, I will do everything in my power to keep you here all summer."

"Fair enough," Snape replied. A moment's pause and Snape remarked dryly, with clear amusement in his eyes, "Who'd of thought you curse like a barmaid, Poppy?"

"Only for you, Severus," Poppy winked and sauntered out of the room.

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That same evening Snape was startled when Pomfrey knocked and informed him he had a visitor.

He glanced nervously at Albus, wondering who on earth it could be. No one was supposed to know he was here after all. But Dumbledore reassured him, "It must be Minerva, Severus. Relax, my boy."

Pomfrey gave a small confirmatory nod and said, "She's been asking about you every day you know."

"Must I?" Snape asked in belabored tone. He hated the very idea of visitors.

Pomfrey continued sternly, "She hasn't come sooner because she thought you needed rest and probably would turn her away. Go figure!"

With a sigh, he acquiesced.

Sure to form, when McGonagall entered she asked a barrage of all the usual bothersome questions concerning Snape's recovery. When she learned that he was now standing on his own, she proclaimed enthusiastically, "That's wonderful, Severus!"

"For Merlin's sake," Snape sulked, "the three of you act as though I'd won an Order of Merlin."

McGonagall tried to explain why she hadn't come sooner, "I know how much you hate visitors, Severus, so—"

"And yet...you still came," Snape said, a smirk playing on his lips.

"Well, so much for thinking you'd changed," McGonagall replied not unkindly.

"Actually," Snape amended, "I _am _glad you are here. Perhaps you can settle an argument between myself and Albus."

This perked Dumbledore's ears. He wasn't aware of any argument.

Snape thought for a moment before speaking, aware he had to phrase his questions carefully if he was to receive the desired answers. "Minerva, I was just wondering," he began with false hesitation. "Have any of the faculty mentioned me? Are they worried? Do they even_ care_ where I've been?"

"Severus, you rotten cheat!" Dumbledore exclaimed, giving Severus a light smack on the shoulder. He knew exactly what his Potions Master was up to.

McGonagall responded in a rush of feeling. "Of course they care, Severus. In fact, Rolanda was just asking about you and Filius mentioned he hadn't seen you in some time and everyone knows you missed the final week of classes, so of course they're worried."

Dumbledore slowly shook his head as Severus leveled a triumphant gaze at him.

"Minerva," Dumbledore began, "What Severus was so cleverly asking was whether the faculty have been gossiping about his absence. If it's conspicuous. And it seems, he baited you rather well."

"Gossiping?" McGonagall backpedaled. "Oh, not at all. I haven't heard anything of the sort."

"Except, of course, Rolanda and Filius and, oh…_everyone_ asking where I am," Snape reminded her.

At Dumbledore's audible sigh, Snape explained, "Albus is trying to rescind his deal."

"I am doing nothing of the sort," Dumbledore said sincerely. "I was merely suggesting that it may not be necessary. You'll be out of here in a couple of weeks most likely…"

"Try a couple of months, if it's left up to Poppy," Snape grumbled.

"It's your decision, of course," Dumbledore continued, "but why endanger your health for one week of classes?"

"I believe we've already gone over this, Albus," Snape said.

McGonagall cut in, "What in the world are you two talking about?"

Dumbledore proceeded to explain the deal he had made with Severus, his compliance with Poppy's demands for an uninterrupted recovery in return for the use of a time turner to revisit the last week of the term.

"Is that even possible?" McGonagall asked in astonishment.

"It is," Dumbledore replied.

"But isn't the cardinal rule of the time turner not to be seen?"

"Typically," Snape explained. "But in this case, my other half will be locked away in the hospital wing, so no one will be the wiser."

"But Albus and I will be," McGonagall countered. She turned to Dumbledore, "Won't you and I think he's still in the hospital wing in a coma when he appears all of a sudden?"

Severus had thought of that, in fact. And much to his consternation, Albus had refused to explain this little detail before. He gave Dumbledore an expectant stare.

"It won't be a problem," Dumbledore reassured both of them. "Trust me."

"Trust you, ha!" Snape said suddenly.

"Severus, I'm warning you," Dumbledore cautioned. "Don't start."

Snape huffed loudly and rolled his eyes.

"Don't you roll your eyes at me, Severus Snape!"

Snape rolled them again in willful disobedience. McGonagall eyed the pair, half wondering if she was about to witness a row between them when Snape leaned towards her and whispered confidentially, "He's a cheat you know."

"What?" she asked in confusion.

"He owes me 5 galleons from gin."

"Now that's not fair," Dumbledore interrupted. "You only won that last hand because you faked a spasm and then stole the card you needed from the deck."

"You see?" Snape responded in a mock-serious tone. "Excuses, accusations…anything to get out of paying up."

McGonagall was staring at Severus now. Was he joking? Smiling? It couldn't be!

McGonagall accepted the cup of tea Dumbledore offered her and watched as the Headmaster fixed Severus's tea and handed it gingerly to him. She could not know how much it meant to Severus to be able to drink it on his own, even if he was prone to some spillage here and there.

"Now then," Dumbledore began as he took a seat, "since Minerva's visiting us today, she gets first choice of reading."

McGonagall was about to protest, but Dumbledore did not give her the chance.

"What's it to be, Minerva?" Dumbledore asked as he read off the offerings in his lap. "Potions Quarterly, Everyday Potions, or Proceedings of the International Academy of Potions?" Dumbledore asked with a chuckle.

But McGonagall was too stunned to speak. Snape was wholly unrecognizable to her. She couldn't recall ever having seen him smile and now this was the second time in as many minutes.

"Too late!" Dumbledore said, interrupting her reverie. "You forfeit your pick," Dumbledore quipped. "Severus, it's to you."

"Proceedings please."

"Make yourself at home, Minerva," Dumbledore said as he leaned back in his chair and threw his slippered feet onto the end of Severus's bed.

Snape noticed McGonagall's surprise and remarked, "Don't look so shocked, Minerva, he's positively made himself a nest in here."

"I can see that."

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Snape's smile disappeared the next day. Dumbledore had been summoned to an emergency meeting of the Order of Phoenix. It was a brutal smack in the face by reality.

It had been easy to forget the world outside this room. There were no horrifying headlines in the paper, no news of deaths or news of anything much at all. And Snape's mind was otherwise occupied with all the mundane difficulties of his recovery. Not to mention the fact that Albus did his fair share in keeping him distracted. But Snape knew the truth of the matter was that it had been easy to forget because it was precisely what he wanted to do.

Realizing there was little sense in postponing the inevitable much longer, Snape was determined to air everything and be done with it as soon as Dumbledore returned.

He knew Albus would try to delay, of course. Probably to spare him the discomfort. He found the notion utterly preposterous. Certainly his previous attempt soon after waking from a coma hadn't helped, and he resolved not to make the same mistake twice.

He had berated himself endlessly for his loss of control in that first conversation – if one could call his emotional blowup a conversation. He had been thoughtless, disgraceful and weak. How exactly was he supposed to convince Albus that he should go back if he was going to fall apart at the seams? Snape realized that he needed to be rational, resolute and calm, all the things Dumbledore was and respected.

It was that initial disastrous attempt that had convinced him to hold off on further discussions in the first place, to allow him the time to disconnect himself from what had happened. It wasn't too hard really – a bit of denial and a good deal of Occlumency-assisted mental walls. He had done it many times before. It was, after all, what made him such a successful spy.

When Dumbledore returned late that same evening, Snape asked about the meeting. He was surprised when Dumbledore didn't evade his question.

"It was nothing of much consequence, Severus. I've doubled the guard at the Ministry. There's been some activity. But nothing unexpected."

Dumbledore didn't need to say anything more. Snape understood. "So you were right. The Dark Lord is interested in the prophecy."

"It appears so. Now, enough talk of this—"

"Albus," Snape interrupted, "I want to tell you what happened."

"Severus, there's no rush…"

"Of course. Let's wait until next year," Snape suggested sardonically. He added seriously, "I'm perfectly fine to talk about it now."

Dumbledore did not bother to retort that he'd been a witness to Severus's nightmares. But it was possible, Dumbledore thought, that he had been going about this the wrong way. Now that Severus's physical health was no longer in jeopardy, perhaps what he most needed was to talk about that night, to begin to work through what had happened.

"It's getting late. Tomorrow?"

"Tonight."

"Very well," Dumbledore relented. "If you're sure."

Snape took a breath and began. A part of him had been worried that he would crumble the moment he opened his mouth, so he breathed an inward sigh of relief that that was not at all the case. In fact, he couldn't help but be impressed with himself. He recounted, in great, almost excruciating detail, the events of that fateful night with such dispassionate precision, it would have rivaled that of the most unbiased observer.

Dumbledore marveled at Severus's control, at his stoic delivery. And he could not have been any more troubled by it. Severus spoke with an almost clinical detachment, describing these horrific events as though he had not been the one who had suffered them.

Dumbledore knew this was a far cry from a healthy response, but thought better than to mention that now. He put these concerns aside for the moment and listened with as much neutrality as was possible under the circumstances, carefully assimilating the details Severus was sharing with him.

"As soon as I Apparated, his first words to me were, _'The traitor returns.'_"

Dumbledore's eyes widened slightly and he wondered how on earth was Severus still alive. Sensing the question, Severus explained straight away his reason for not using the amulet Dumbledore had given him, which could have port-keyed him away at the first sign of trouble. Severus had been convinced that Voldemort did not, in fact, know he was a traitor, that he was instead testing his loyalty by making the accusation and delivering the ensuing punishments.

"He wanted to see if I would run. There were no anti-Apparition wards in place at the graveyard. It was a test."

"And you knew this?"

"Not with complete certainty," Snape admitted.

"But you decided to take the chance," Dumbledore replied, his voice containing no trace of admiration, just displeasure.

"It was a calculated risk. And I confess, it was a struggle to keep my composure. But I did my best. The Dark Lord despises weakness. I had to appear…calm."

Dumbledore would have laughed if this wasn't so deadly serious. Taking in Severus's stone-faced expression, he replied, "I don't doubt for a moment that you succeeded."

"I would say he derived enormous enjoyment out of my suffering," Snape continued, his voice so flat, so unaffected, it was as though he was describing the procedure for brewing a Pepper-Up potion. "And I happened to be a perfect outlet for his rage."

"He risked killing you out of anger?" Dumbledore asked, an anger of his own boiling in his belly. "If you're trying to reassure me, Severus, you're not succeeding."

"That was not the only reason. And I must say, I have never seen him this angry before. He had just lost Potter and to make matters worse, it happened mere moments after he told the assembly of Death Eaters that he would prove his superiority over the boy once and for all."

"Ah…"

"Then I arrived, and late no less. I ended up his example. Potter's surrogate so to speak." A breath. "Granted I wasn't the only one. The moment I Apparated I sensed the others were in pain. He had inflicted the curse on them as well – though not to the same degree, of course – but most likely for their disloyalty to him after his disappearance at Godric's Hollow. After he called me a traitor, I immediately offered apologies for my lateness and then an explanation. He did not let me finish, however, before the first Cruciatus hit me. It was rather…" a pause, "…more intense than I remembered."

"Severus, you don't need to—"

"It's nothing," Snape said, dismissing Dumbledore's concern with a shrug.

Dumbledore listened with a tight feeling in his chest as Severus recounted what had followed, a feeling made only worse by Severus's seeming indifference. Dumbledore's brow furrowed as his concern deepened. Severus's expression was so disciplined, it might have been almost easy to forget that it had been _he _who had suffered this, if a single glance at his body, still trembling from the ordeal, didn't serve as an immediate conspicuous reminder.

"…The fifth round of Cruciatus lasted well over two minutes I would say. He was speaking to me throughout, although I cannot tell you with great accuracy what he was saying."

"The other Death Eaters had begun to laugh by now. In all likelihood because I had lost control and begun to scream."

Dumbledore conjured himself a glass of water, hoping it would dislodge the lump in his throat. It did not. He offered a glass to Severus, who refused with a shake of his head.

"Their laughter enraged him. Moments after releasing me, they were all on the ground under the Cruciatus. By this point, I admit it was…difficult to pay much attention. I was slipping in and out of consciousness. But from what I did hear, he lectured them, told them they were pathetic and that they possessed none of the strength and resolve that I did. That only I appreciated his brilliance. That only I understood the extent of his power. That only I never begged for mercy like they did. I do remember that well, because at that point, it was all that stopped me from activating the amulet."

"I believe I lost consciousness again, because the next thing I remember was being awakened only to have another Cruciatus cast at me. This one was the last. I think he held it just until he sensed I was on the verge of death. I couldn't say how long that was. And he did not let me pass out again. He ordered the other Death Eaters away." A breath. "I can still remember the silence once they had gone."

Now Severus did stop for a moment to take a drink of water. Dumbledore could sense Severus's fatigue, his emotional exhaustion. But he did not bother to suggest that Severus rest. Dumbledore knew with a palpable certainty that Severus could not stop now, that he would have sooner wept than done so.

"He knew I couldn't sit up or even lift my head. He came over and knelt down beside me. He grabbed me by the chin and made me meet his gaze. He looked straight at me and whispered, _'It's just you and me now, Severus.'_"

"And he just stared…right into my eyes. It felt like hours, but must have only been minutes. And it was then that I realized his actions had been less about anger and more his strategy to break me…so that he might see everything he wanted."

"I admit…it was not easy to submit to his scrutiny, especially in the state I was in. I could feel the overwhelming pressure of his mind against mine. I melted away my outer barrier for him as he entered my mind – let him see the pain I was in, my shame, and a little of my anger at him for doing this. But I also crafted a convincing picture of my unbending loyalty to him, and my admiration of his power. He pushed for more and after feigning a struggle, I let him in deeper, allowing him to discover my fear."

Dumbledore was startled by the sudden harsh laugh Severus emitted, his face contorted in disgust as he continued, "I knew he would enjoy seeing that."

Dumbledore wanted to say something, to interject some space of comfort for Severus and for himself. He felt he had heard too much, that his very skin had become tender, vulnerable to sound. He sought to steel himself, because he knew what Severus needed most at this moment was to finish, uninterrupted, this horrifying narrative.

"He smiled at me. Merlin, what a horrible sight that was! And I thought for a split second that he had discovered the truth. But he simply released his grip and said…" Snape stopped and closed his eyes in concentration. He knew that this was the most important part, that he had to deliver the Dark Lord's parting message to him word for word. He took a breath and began, _"'Severus, if you are fortunate enough to live, I do hope you appreciate this lesson in humility. Know that I have given you a great gift, my servant, a chance to prove your loyalty to me. Do not disappoint me by throwing it away.'_"

Severus exhaled deeply, and finished hollowly, "That's it."

After a long moment, Dumbledore cleared his throat and spoke with a calm that contradicted his true state of mind, "Thank you for telling me everything, Severus. I will think carefully on what you've said and we can discuss it further in a few days. Right now, I want you to rest." He stood and offered Severus a vial. "Will you take some Dreamless Sleep Draught?" Dumbledore asked, and then added in earnest, "For me?"

Snape took the potion from Dumbledore's outstretched hand but made no effort to drink it. His eyes remained trained on the elder wizard. "But I am going back…?" Snape prodded, making it sound much more like a statement than a question. "Surely you can see that I have to."

Dumbledore hesitated a moment and replied, "I still have concerns, Severus, which we can discuss—"

"He saw nothing, Albus," Snape interrupted. "Or he would have killed me straight away. Surely you must agree that the _test_ he mentioned is to see whether I will return to him again after…after everything."

Dumbledore had inferred that as well, and agreed with Severus's assessment that the Cruciatus had been a well-considered test of loyalty, however depraved that was. But he thought it best to withhold his concession on that point for the time being. Besides, now was not the best time to discuss this at length. "Severus," Dumbledore began gently, "Let's discuss this tomorrow."

"No!" Snape snapped vehemently. "We're going to discuss it now!"

Dumbledore sat back down in his chair slowly and sighed deeply. He said nothing for some time, but faced with Severus's intent stare and refusal to drop this conversation, he relented and said, "I'm not certain it's worth taking the chance."

Snape looked at him as though he'd grown a second head. "It's _absolutely_ worth it if I can learn something, _anything_, of his plans."

Dumbledore marveled once again at how disconnected Severus was to his own role in this, to the danger to his person, at the appalling rationality of Severus offering up his life for the cause.

"Voldemort has always isolated himself, Severus. We've spoken of this. And I believe he will do so even more now. He may not take you into his confidence."

"But he may," Snape insisted.

Dumbledore thought for a moment and continued, "Did it seem to you that he'd been discussing his plans with the others before you got there?"

"I don't believe so. Those discussions must have occurred later. He did not share any information about the prophecy or his other plans with me," Snape said, feeling all at once self-conscious that he had not been able to provide more insight into the Dark Lord's plans.

Dumbledore could see in Severus's face his feeling of failure, of inadequacy. The fact that that was where Severus's mind was at the moment only further heightened his concern for his friend's state of mind.

"Albus, I _want _to go back," Snape insisted.

The words made something snap inside him. Dumbledore closed his eyes and stared intently at the blackness there and tried to suppress the lump rising in his throat. How could Severus tell him that, Dumbledore thought, when he had said quite the opposite to him under duress? When he had begged, pleaded, screamed, and bawled in a moment of delirious honesty to be spared from going back to that madman. It baffled him, this insistence to return as a spy. And Dumbledore knew then, he would not win this fight. But he was determined to try.

Snape was beginning to feel decidedly uncomfortable by Albus's long silence. And rather anxious that he had perhaps said something wrong. He pressed on, "I think it's pretty clear where his mind is on this. Don't you agree?" A pause. "Would you…would you like me to tell you what happened again?"

"No, I think not," Dumbledore said brusquely, angered at the idea Severus would even suggest putting himself through that torment again.

A long silence.

"What is it, Albus?"

A frustrated, almost angry sigh left Dumbledore lips, "I'm not certain I believe you, Severus."

Almost instantly, Snape felt a terrible affronted anger. His features were transfigured into darkness, impenetrable and feral. "You can look…" he spat, now violently gesturing to his right temple, "…if you don't believe me."

Dumbledore suddenly understood, sat down on the edge of the bed and pulled Severus's hand away from his head. "Severus, Severus, you misunderstand me, dear boy. I trust your recounting of events completely." He let that sink in. "I've always trusted you, Severus."

Snape looked bewildered for a moment, and then managed, "Then what—?"

"What I am not so certain of, however, is your willingness to put your life in such jeopardy again after all that you've been through."

At these words, Snape felt somewhat relieved and a little ashamed. He tried to regain his footing. "Albus, this may very well be most important edge the Order could have against the Dark Lord!" he said fervently.

"Indeed, it could," Dumbledore conceded. "That does not sway me, however." He paused a moment and then added seriously, his voice discernibly softer, "It would be understandable, Severus, if you chose not to return."

Snape huffed at that. "It would be mad not to go back."

A pause. "Why are you so insistent on returning?"

It was a simple question, but it was one Snape knew he could never adequately answer. How could he explain this desperate need to return to a monster. Part of it stemmed from a need to see, to be a part of the Dark Lord's destruction. Another part from his desire to redeem the part of him that had once done the unthinkable – to see an end to the mess that he had had a hand in. But more so, for a reason he could never admit aloud. He could not refuse this mission, this task that had once been appointed to him. He could not disappoint Albus, not again.

But to Dumbledore's question, Snape said instead simply, "It's my job. It's why you hired me."

"It may be why I hired you, but it's not why I kept you, Severus. You're debt is paid. It was long ago."

Snape searched for something to say. "I…I can't just sit idly by and…"

"Severus, my boy," Dumbledore interrupted in a gentle voice, his eyes carefully studying him, "tell me why…"

Snape did not let him finish. "I think perhaps you're right, Albus. It's late and I'm feeling rather tired. Do you mind if we continue this tomorrow?"

Dumbledore seemed to consider this for a moment, but replied, "Of course not."

"Goodnight then," Snape said and gulped down the contents of the vial.

Before he left, Dumbledore took Severus's sleeping hand in his own and whispered, "You could never disappoint me, Severus."

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_**Author's Note:** _First off...I hope you all take the time to check out my new ADSS story, _'The Best Laid Plans...'_ which is the sequel to _Much Madness is Divinest Sense_. Another comedy, but this one is better than the last in my estimation. And certainly a break from the tension of this chapter.

So I think I'll just stop apologizing for update delays and simply assure you all that I am doing my best and I will under no circumstance abandon this story, short of my untimely death:-)

Thank you all for continuing on with this story with me. I appreciate your reviews more than I can say.

However arduous it was at times, this chapter turned out to be quite a delight for me (and my 2nd longest). Every time I thought I was done, I kept adding more. I attempted to do a lot in it...first in the Minerva section, then in relaying the facts of the Voldemort narrative, and of course, more importantly relaying Severus's state of mind throughout and after. I hope I captured your fancy in some measure.

Part of me is relieved to get this chapter out, if only because I have been looking forward to writing the upcoming chapters for a very long time now. Be warned….Turning point(s) are on the way. I won't say if they're good or bad or both.

But back to this chapter. Since I cannot imagine Voldemort doing much without calculation, I wanted to explain why Severus so close to death. For the most part, this is my interpretation of what might have happened that night in canon. It draws largely on this vague notion we have (and later have confirmed in HBP from Draco) that Snape is Voldemort's favorite. I always found that absolutely fascinating (although given the IQs of other death eaters, it's no big surprise). Anyway, I hope you found it a realistic interpretation of canon.

Please take a moment and leave your thoughts/comments. They are much appreciated. xx


	10. Much easier said than done

**Title: **Unexpected Grace  
**Author:** Cocoa-Snape (aka CocoaSnape)  
**Disclaimer: **Harry Potter belongs exclusively to JKR…she is a goddess. I am making no money from this and I intend no copyright infringement.

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**Unexpected Grace  
**by **CocoaSnape  
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**Chapter 10: Much easier said than done**

Severus Snape realized he had made a terrible mistake. Pain was flooding through his body, wrenching his muscles apart, stretching, nearly ripping the tendons from his bones. Through the haze and tears he could make out a dark figure standing above him, whispering the words that were afflicting this torment. In the back of his mind he could see Albus's disapproving eyes. They stretched wide across the black expanse within him. Then vanished. The Dark Lord bent low over him and spoke in a callous whisper, _'What a fool you were to return, traitor. I'll show you suffering!'_

With a start, Snape awoke.

He was in the hospital wing. _Just another nightmare_, he realized. He was soaked in sweat, and he could feel his heart racing in his chest. He took several deep breaths. His body was trembling still, as though he had just experienced the Unforgiveable in reality. Turning his head, he caught sight of the Headmaster, standing in the doorway, concern etched on his face.

_Damn._ Illogical as it seemed, it might have been the worst part of these nightmares, Snape thought, waking to find Albus there, eyeing him with _that _look.

"What time is it?" Snape asked in an effort to fill the awkward silence.

"A bit after nine," Dumbledore replied.

"Oh." A pause. Snape tried, without success, to sound nonchalant. "Albus, it's not necessary for you to come down every morning and check up on me. I'm perfectly fine."

"I wasn't checking up on you, Severus."

Snape closed his eyes, knowing full well what was coming next. Each time he wished the words would remain trapped in Dumbledore's mouth, but they never did.

A soft, "Would you like to talk about it?"

"There's nothing to talk about." It was his stock response. But it had the desired effect – each time, Dumbledore took the hint and changed the subject.

Not this time. "Severus, perhaps you—"

Snape hastily interrupted, "It's just a silly dream, Albus. I'm fine."

Dumbledore closed his eyes in frustration. It was beyond discomfiting – this denial on Severus's part. He had gently tried to persuade Severus to discuss what had happened beyond a rational, tactical analysis of how his returning as a spy would benefit the Order. But in the past week, Severus had dodged his every attempt, including now. And he had grown increasingly weary of it.

"Can you not see why that is difficult for me to believe, Severus, when you say it with such detachment? As if nothing happened to you at all. As if you weren't in unbearable agony…"

Snape huffed and shook his head, suggesting these were matters of no real consequence.

Dumbledore felt like a dam about to burst. He wanted to let the words tumble from his mouth, _'I know. I was there with you,'_ but instead he shifted his eyes to the floor, counted 223 flecks of graphite in the tile at his feet, and tried again to reason with Severus.

"I had hoped that by now you would—"

"Excuse me," Snape interrupted, unable to bear the idea of continuing this conversation. He reached for his cane and hoisted himself out of bed. Dumbledore moved to help him, but Snape shrugged him off with irritation, "The bathroom is five steps away, Albus."

Snape hobbled there, in what ended up being closer to ten steps and quickly shut the door. He sank down on the edge of the bath and started the water.

They had come to an agreement in the past week. Dumbledore, having accepted his reasoning about the Dark Lord's motives, had finally relented and assented to his request to return as a spy. Why then, Snape wondered, did Albus continue to raise the topic of what had happened to him that night? Snape had learned long ago that dwelling on the past only created more difficulties than it solved.

It was something Albus clearly did not understand. Snape had actually grown quite weary of it – Dumbledore's attempts to get him to share his 'feelings' about what had happened. Ridiculous! As if he had any.

As if they mattered.

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Two days later, Snape lethargically broke himself from sleep. And then balked at the time. It was already afternoon. He'd obviously fallen asleep again. And no wonder – he was bored out of his mind! Albus was in London meeting with the Order, and here he was, carefully deciding whether he'd rather read or bathe. With far too much time spent considering the options, he chose the latter.

He'd been in the hospital wing just over 3 weeks now. And although Albus had been nothing short of remarkable during that time, Snape was long ready to leave. The Headmaster assured him it would be soon, but apologetically reminded him that the decision ultimately rested with Poppy. He was already regretting having made the deal that entrusted his care to the medi-witch. He was tired of this room, tired of living in nightshirts and slippers, tired of not being able to take a walk by himself in the infirmary hall without being accosted and lectured by Poppy.

He was walking steadily now, albeit slowly and with the aid of a cane. Snape never had been much of an outdoors person, but after three full weeks spent inside, he found he missed it. Staring out the enormous windows Albus had created for him, he took in the beautiful summer day, yet another he would miss.

By the time Dumbledore returned in the late afternoon, Snape had been stewing long enough in his misery.

"How are you, my boy?"

It was an innocuous question that did not get the typical answer. The words came pouring out, "I can't take another minute of this, Albus! Minerva just stopped by, and she was fussing over me to no end, insisting that I eat, refusing to let me get up on my own. I was about ready to curse her when—"

"Please tell me you didn't."

"No, but only because I'm not supposed to use my magic. _Which_, by the way, is a wholly unreasonable request at this point!" Snape fumed. "She finally left…I may have said something rather offensive, but no matter." He paused, then added as an afterthought, "You should smooth things over with her."

"Why me?" Dumbledore asked in surprise.

"I don't know," Snape huffed. "Because it's the sort of thing you do. And I certainly won't."

Dumbledore was trying hard to suppress a smile. But he didn't think Severus would react favorably to his being amused by his exasperation. Dumbledore was about to say something suitably consoling, but apparently, Severus wasn't finished ranting.

"And don't you even get me started on Poppy! That woman will be the death of me, Albus! I don't know why she just didn't kill me to begin with and save herself the trouble. She caught me down the hall this morning taking a walk and she took my head off. Told me I shouldn't venture so far from my bed. And then, as if that wasn't enough, she had the gall to add that I needed someone to supervise me when I get up." A pause. "I might have said something offensive to her as well, come to think of it."

"She's concerned about you."

"Why isn't anyone concerned about me going mad?"

Dumbledore chuckled. "Perhaps I can help, my boy."

"Oh?"

"Why don't we go for a walk?"

"A walk?" Snape asked suspiciously. "Where?"

"On the grounds."

With raised eyebrows, Snape asked, "Won't Poppy have your hide for this?"

"Only if she finds out."

"But how…?"

"Come now, Severus," Dumbledore said with a twinkle in his eyes. "I'm not the greatest wizard of the age for nothing, now am I?" Dumbledore pointed his wand at the bed and a moment later, a precise image of Severus Snape, sleeping peacefully, appeared.

Studying his work carefully for a moment, Dumbledore shook his head as though something were not quite right. With a look of sudden inspiration, he muttered another incantation, causing the sleeping likeness to emit a soft snoring sound.

"I do not snore!" Snape insisted in an affronted tone.

In reply, Dumbledore tilted his head and quirked an eyebrow. He grabbed a blanket off a nearby chair, transfigured it into a cloak and handed it to Severus to put on.

Snape looked at the door. "And how exactly are we going to sneak past her?"

"Quietly, of course," Dumbledore said, before casting a dampening charm on their feet.

Snape was about to protest – he didn't relish the idea of being seen by any of the faculty that might be about. There would undoubtedly be questions, about his absence, about his cane. But before he could say anything, Albus grasped his upper arm and he felt a slight tingle wash over him, an odd sensation he couldn't quite place. Albus steered him towards the door with his hand still firmly holding onto his arm, and Snape struggled to maneuver through it with his cane.

He wondered what Albus was playing at, walking through the hospital wing with Poppy there. A dampening charm would do them little good if they were walking about in plain sight. He was in no state to hide if she were to walk in. And suddenly, as if on cue, Poppy stepped out of her office. Snape winced inwardly; but before he spoke, Dumbledore put a finger to his lips, indicating he should remain quiet. And when she looked up at them, no _through_ them, it hit him. He was invisible.

During the short walk to the main doors, they remained silent, passing first Flitwick and then McGonagall in the halls. So that by the time they had made their way outside, out of earshot and away from view, Snape was about ready to burst.

"That's incredible, Albus!!" he all but shouted.

Dumbledore let go of his arm then, and he felt a slight chill. His eyes widened as Dumbledore disappeared before his eyes. Snape reached his hand out to the spot where Dumbledore had been standing and immediately came into contact with his solid form. Barely a moment later, the Headmaster reappeared.

"I thought you would enjoy that, my boy."

"You _must_ teach me that," Snape insisted with fire in his eyes.

"Certainly," Dumbledore replied. "In another 30 years, when you've the proper control and energy to support it."

"I'll hold you to that," Snape vowed.

"I'm sure you will, dear boy," Dumbledore replied fondly.

As they made their way slowly towards the lake, Snape's mind was racing to explain the phenomena he had just experienced. He knew it wasn't a standard invisibility spell; the ones he was familiar with were highly unstable, and lasted for a few seconds at most. This was different, Snape was certain of it.

"That wasn't… How did you…? Will you at least tell me the incantation?" Snape pressed.

"It's not a spell, Severus."

"Not a spell?" Snape asked in confusion. It couldn't have been a potion.

"It is more akin to a personal ward," Dumbledore clarified.

Snape was completely baffled, and it showed.

"Do you remember, Severus," Dumbledore continued in explanation, "the wall of camouflage I showed you how to erect in your mind?"

Snape nodded. He did remember it well, from their Occlumency lessons of only months before.

"Well, it is essentially the same principle, except in this instance, I have projected a camouflage outside of my mind, around both of us."

Snape stopped walking. He had never heard of such a thing. He couldn't even fathom the idea of it. To create a barrier with one's mind, outside of the mind, using Occlumency alone, without the aid of a spell – it was inconceivable!

Dumbledore smiled at the almost pained expression on Severus's face and pressed his forefinger to Severus's furrowed brow, as if to smooth out the crease. "Severus my boy, I'm not supposed to be giving you things to worry about. Poppy might very well hurt me if she finds out."

They resumed their walk, Dumbledore keeping a careful eye on Severus for overexertion. But physical fatigue was the last thing on Snape's mind at the moment.

"I still can't quite wrap my wits around it. It's remarkable; certainly more reliable and much less expensive than invisibility potion. Not to mention less difficult to brew."

"Oh?" Dumbledore said, encouraging Severus to continue. He did rather enjoy seeing Severus this excited.

"I recently brewed a batch," Snape supplied. "It took me over 9 months, required too many sleepless nights, and cost me an excessive amount of my salary." He paused, and then asked with an eager expression, "So in 30 years you say?"

Dumbledore let out a chuckle. "It's just an estimate, Severus. I was a good deal older than that, but when it comes to that type of magic, you've got quite the leg up on me, I think."

If Snape was the blushing type, he would have been bright red. He scoffed aloud at Albus's comment, but inside he felt a whirlwind of delight at the tremendous compliment just paid to him. For Albus to even compare their levels of magic was incredibly flattering.

"So you were…?"

"80 or so."

"Is that when you feel your magic peaked?" _Oh dear, Merlin!_ Had he just said that?! Now he was blushing for sure!

"My dear Severus," Dumbledore interjected in a mock-affronted tone, "are you implying that it's all downhill for me now?"

"No!" Snape felt as though his face were on fire. "Headmaster, I did not mean that, I—"

But Dumbledore plowed on, "After all, I was a hundred when I defeated Grindelwald, and rumor has it that I was the most powerful wizard at the time."

"Of course you were! I mean _are_…I mean you—"

"Severus, my boy," Dumbledore said fondly with a beaming smile, "I'm teasing you."

Snape breathed a sigh of relief as Dumbledore's laughter registered.

As they neared the lake, Dumbledore pointed to a large rock on the bank. "Why don't we sit there; it's my favorite spot."

As they made their way down over the rocky path, Dumbledore was watching Severus intently, a levitation spell on the tip of his tongue in case he were to stumble.

"I'm not an invalid, Albus."

"I am aware of that, Severus, but I should be very sorry if on your first walk out of the hospital wing, you were to collapse. Not to mention the volume of Poppy's wrath I would have to contend with."

They sat on a soft bench that Dumbledore transfigured and took in the view, magnificent as always. Snape had just sent a stone skipping over the water when out of the ripples a Merman arose. Dumbledore immediately spoke something which must have been a greeting, for the Merman responded in kind.

Snape had, of course, heard that Dumbledore could speak Mermish, but he had never been an actual witness to the event and so in his mind it had taken on a sort of mythic quality. Out of his amazement, he heard his name and realized that Dumbledore must be introducing him. He nodded rather too hastily he thought and then tried to make himself blend as much as possible into the bench.

When the Merman left, Snape inquired, "I've got to know…how on earth did you learn Mermish?"

"Ah, now that is a long story. One I must share with you over tea sometime," Dumbledore replied with a gleam in his eyes, "but I will tell you that it involved…hmm, how shall I say…a rather _enthusiastic _Mermaid and her very angry father."

"You're putting me on."

"Maybe I am, maybe I'm not," Dumbledore answered with a wink.

"It's astounding to me how you do these things…learning strange languages, inventing invisibility with your mind. It seems almost impossible."

"Not impossible. You do much the same in your research, Severus, each time you invent a new potion."

"That's hardly the same thing…"

"In a way it is. I just have considerably more experience to draw upon. 150 years worth in fact." He paused and then added with amusement, "But I must say, most of the time, I don't feel a day over 75."

Snape snorted and replied, "When you're showing me your chocolate card collection, you don't seem a day over 14."

"Really? That's so sweet of you to say, Severus," Dumbedore replied with sincerity. A moment later, he added with a sparkle in his eyes, "Was that your not so subtle way of asking to see more of my collection, my boy?"

At Snape's mock look of being found out, Dumbledore dissolved into laughter.

They sat and talked for over an hour before Dumbledore sensed Severus beginning to tire. "I think we should start back. The sun's nearly set and it's getting rather chilly."

"I suppose," Snape said solemnly, not particularly looking forward to returning to the hospital wing.

In reply, Dumbledore inclined his head towards his tower and asked, "How about some dinner then? Unless, that is, you have some other pressing engagement?"

At Snape's scowl, Dumbledore smiled and said, "Come on then, let's go eat," before interlacing his arm in Severus's to assist him.

Snape was grateful for the help, but grumbled about it all the same as they ascended side by side along the rocky path back towards the castle.

Even though the height of summer was nearly upon them, it had grown quite cool at this late hour of the day. There was a strong breeze coming off the lake.

Snape shivered involuntarily.

Then he felt a surge of warmth flow through him as though the sun had set itself around him.

Where their shoulders touched, Dumbledore propelled the heat into him, creating an invisible shield against the cold.

And strangely enough, it hit Snape in that moment, the magnitude of Albus's kindnesses throughout his recovery. He felt an overwhelming surge of gratitude for the elder wizard's devotion, care, and companionship. The latter had been the most prized, the least possible to demand.

With a sudden rush of feeling, Snape blurted, "Thank you, Albus."

"It's nothing, dear boy. It's my pleasure," Dumbledore replied. "It was a splendid outing, was it not?"

He had not understood him. Albus merely thought he was referring to this excursion outdoors. Snape struggled to explain. Against the swelling pressure of his throat, Snape managed a "I…I didn't mean…I…"

Snape paused, unsure of the correct wording, or if there were words to express all that he wanted to say or, even if there were, whether he could bring himself to say them.

But, as always, Albus's soft voice saved him. "I know what you meant, my boy," he whispered, tightening his grip on Severus's arm.

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They shared a leisurely dinner in Dumbledore's quarters before making themselves comfortable in the sitting room for tea and dessert. Snape took his usual seat on the worn red couch, while Dumbledore sat in his favorite armchair.

After having spent an entire afternoon and evening discussing everything but the topic they'd been debating endlessly for days now, it seemed all but inevitable that the subject would revert back to Severus's return as a spy.

Dumbledore had relented on that point. He knew it was necessary for the Order, and even agreed with Severus's logic about Voldemort using the Cruciatus as a test of loyalty. But beyond that, Severus was firm in his resolve to return, and Dumbledore knew there was little he could do to change that. His focus at the present, therefore, was centered on Severus's state of mind. The fact that Severus had still refused to discuss what had happened beyond a clinical recounting left Dumbledore far from reassured.

"Severus, I know I've mentioned this before, but I still have concerns about—"

Not understanding (or perhaps not wanting to), Snape cut Dumbledore off, "I can't imagine what about. He didn't get past any of my mental walls and I know for certain he didn't see anything I didn't want him to…"

Dumbledore listened as Severus repeated his line on the matter. So often had his response been rehearsed, in fact, that it had by now taken on the quality of a mantra. Dumbledore could have recited it with him – that at least would have afforded him a serious chuckle. As it was, things were purely serious. Dumbledore wondered if Severus was trying to convince himself, or if this was a tactic to steer the conversation. To avoid the conversation was more like it.

"…He was testing my fortitude, Albus. It's all a game to him."

Dumbledore said nothing. His silence only seemed to incite Severus further.

"…I have no intention of running. And hiding is not an option either. I won't become a burden to you—"

"You'd never be a burden to me, Severus," Dumbledore interjected.

"Of course," Snape replied hurriedly. "I meant Hogwarts…you know what I meant. Albus, the Order needs this." When Dumbledore still didn't answer, Snape continued, apparently determined to carry on the conversation by himself, "I know what you're going to say, of course, that there are other options, but…"

Each word Severus spoke only heightened Dumbledore's unease. Finally, after several long minutes, Snape asked him pointedly, "Albus, why are you so quiet?"

Dumbledore took a moment before replying hesitantly, "I am worried about you, my boy."

Unfazed, Snape continued, "Yes, well, there's always a risk. But I'll have the amulet in case of an emerg—"

"I didn't mean like that," Dumbledore interrupted. "Of course I worry for your safety, Severus. But I am reasonably confident in both our security precautions as well as Voldemort's belief in your loyalty."

"Then, I don't understand what—"

Dumbledore put his hand up. "There is more to consider, Severus, than just your safety."

"Such as?"

"I am…troubled by the way you're dealing with this, Severus. And concerned with how you'll handle going back after all that's happened."

"This again," Snape huffed with a frustrated sigh.

"Yes, Severus," Dumbledore replied with complete calm, "…_this _again."

"I'm not mental, Albus. I was injured and now I'm better." He looked down as his cane and added, "Or nearly so."

_He would think it that simple, Dumbledore thought. "_Severus, what you went through is far from that simple. It leaves painful reminders – both physical _and _mental. And each needs to be tended to."

There it was again – Dumbledore steering him towards sharing his 'feelings' about the ordeal. What was there to share? The Dark Lord was a sadistic maniac who'd _Crucioed_ him to the point of death. He was better now. Everything else was irrelevant.

"I don't see the point in this conversation," Snape said sharply.

Dumbledore leaned forward and whispered gently, "Severus, you were tortured…"

"You don't have to remind me," Snape said, meeting Albus's gaze.

Dumbledore paused, eyed Severus for a moment over his spectacles, and then said seriously, "I think perhaps I do."

Snape stared incredulously at Dumbledore for a moment, but then turned his head away.

"Severus—"

"What do you want from me?" Snape snapped angrily. _To tell you I was terrified…to tell you I wanted to die_?

"I want to give you the opportunity to talk about it."

"What is there left to say? I've told you what happened."

"A detached clinical relaying of the facts is hardly talking about it, Severus," Dumbledore said calmly.

"How many times have we gone over this, Albus?" Snape retorted heatedly. "I think it should be clear to you by now that I don't want to!"

"Of course you don't," Dumbledore said, somewhat harsher than he had intended.

Snape bit back, "And just what is that supposed to mean?"

Regaining his composure, Dumbledore began softly, "It means that you are far too closed off, my boy. You need to confide in someone. If you don't want it to be me, then someone else."

Snape waved his hand dismissively, "I'm not one for that sort of thing, Albus, as you very well know. Besides, the whole idea is ridiculous."

"Severus, don't you find it exhausting keeping everything inside all the time?"

_You have no idea. _"I have no earthly idea what you're going on about," Snape lied.

Dumbledore emitted a loud sigh. "I realize that you're a very private person, Severus, and you are perfectly entitled to your privacy—"

"Thank you," Snape interjected sardonically.

"You didn't let me finish. Privacy is important; it shields us from the severity of the outer world. _But_ when secrets become too dark, too devastating in themselves, well, then the evil is not outside, it is inside. Sometimes the wisest thing one can do is open one's self to external guidance."

"That's easy for you to say," Snape muttered under his breath.

"Severus," Dumbledore continued, "there is no shame in being unguarded with those you care for, with those who care for you."

"Is that so?" Snape asked, disbelief etched on every inch of his face.

"Yes."

"You're wrong," Snape replied with bold certainty.

Dumbledore's eyebrows rose up into his forehead at Severus's defiance. Yet he couldn't help but be amused by his friend's self-assuredness. "I am not," Dumbledore rebutted calmly.

"You know very well that our lives preclude that," Snape argued. "Maintaining complete control over our minds is what gives us power."

"In some ways, yes," Dumbledore conceded. "But there is also great power in sharing yourself with another."

Dumbledore said it with such strength, such conviction, that Snape had to rebuke him, "That is much easier said than done."

"Of course."

And then, in a blink, Snape felt all of Dumbledore's walls go down.

He gasped involuntarily at the sensation – feeling as though he had been viscerally suspended in air, twirled and spun. He reeled from the shock of it, from the revelation that all of what Albus's mind contained had been laid before him instantly, without reserve.

Snape distantly registered that this should not have felt this way. Years of spying had demanded frequent use of Legilimency on his part – so much so, that being inside someone's mind had been, at one time, a nearly rote affair. Those countless experiences could have been described, at their very best, as ordinary. More often, Snape compared it to being trapped in a cold dark cave, clouded by dust, littered with debris. Those encounters left him frozen with discomfort, disoriented, and claustrophobic.

He might have known that nothing about Albus would be ordinary. He _should_ have known that Albus's mind would be without equal.

Even at its surface, it was something spectacular to behold. Sensually, it was as though Snape had fallen into a deep immaculate pool, intensely clear, bright, and seemingly infinite. Much like the man himself, it positively sparkled with warmth and energy, glowing with every color imaginable, every shade seamlessly coalescing into brilliance.

Thoughts, memories and emotions – everything that is Albus – surged and swelled around him in a stunning dance. They felt like strands of fine silk, moving in time with the rhythm of Albus's magic, magic thatpulsed against his own. The sheer complexity of it was astonishing, and yet despite its immensity, Snape could feel its underlying meticulous organization.

He was mesmerized by the awesomeness it, by the miracle of seeing, experiencing Albus in such a way. It was hypnotic, intoxicating. He thought he might have been in a trance, floating in this pool of Albus's magic, suspended by the threads of his mind. Snape marveled at the sensation, so wholly foreign to him, and yet at the same time, inexplicably familiar.

With uncharacteristic boldness, fueled by the singularity of this encounter, Snape pushed further into Albus's consciousness. He was startled to meet with no resistance. No reactionary, instinctive barriers sprung before him, leaving him overwhelmed by Albus's capacity for absolute trust. Then a rush of exhilaration, a flooding warmth, told Snape that he had reached the center. He was at last submerged in the grandeur of Albus's mind. It was perfection beyond words, euphoria surpassing feeling. Snape had to remind himself to breathe.

As he found himself drawn to a particularly vibrant strand of memories, Snape could not help but wonder exactly what Albus would let him see, how deeply he might be allowed to go. Could not help but question what the rules of this unique encounter were. He moved closer, partly surprised, partly not, that Albus made no effort to stop him. That instead, as he reached out for it, a swell of energy, of magic, flowed over and through him, pulling him even closer.

Snape realized then that he was the subject of this strand. It took no effort on his part to view it. It opened before him without hesitation.

_He is lying in the hospital wing, his body shaking violently. Albus is sitting in a chair by his bedside, trying frantically to calm him. He does not seem aware of Albus's presence._

Having no memory of these events, Snape deduced in mere moments that this must have taken place just hours after his return from the Dark Lord.

Dumbledore, for his part, couldn't help but be astonished at the precision with which Severus found this particular group of memories. Granted however, the memories of that night had been at the forefront of his mind for weeks now. And he considered then how easy it would be for Severus to see everything – his overwhelming emotions of that time, the words of affection exchanged between them, and the ensuing days of self-reflection on his part. None of it was deep. None of it was hidden. It was all there for Severus's taking. And Dumbledore asked himself if, in that moment, Severus had pressed for more, had gotten to the core of that strand…would he have laid it all out for Severus's perusal? He never got the chance to find out.

The surface layers of the memory alone were enough to persuade Snape that he need not linger there. He had no need of additional memories of that time. Fully aware of what an extraordinary gift this was, knowing that he would never have this chance again, Snape felt no regret at his decision. For in this moment, collecting knowledge was insignificant to the pure joy of simply being present here, of the privilege of connecting to Albus in this way.

He wanted only to stay here, in this miraculous place, enveloped by the exquisite folds of Albus's mind, to bask in its glory. To focus on a single memory, Snape knew, would be a grave mistake – like examining a single leaf instead of appreciating the grandness of the forest in which it resides. Snape released the strand of memories and emotions, and, as he did so, he felt, as if within himself, Dumbledore heave a sigh, which he did not know to be a sigh of relief.

Snape had forgotten about the actual person of the Headmaster. And now he disengaged himself just enough so that he could see both, the man and the mind. At first his vision was hazy, but gradually Albus came into focus. He was seated with typical composure and calm in the armchair directly across from him. But then Snape could see that his eyes were intent upon him, with a strange mixture of seriousness and amused fascination.

Snape did his best to quell the restlessness of his body, for now he felt as though he could read Albus's thoughts from his eyes alone. His emotions, his memories seemed to flit across the surface of those bright blue orbs. Snape felt his heart begin to race, somewhat unnaturally, from the force of it.

Snape knew then, with a palpable certainty, that this was the closest he would ever come to experiencing bliss. He was lost in this, utterly devastated by the weight of this unparalleled sharing, this perfect grace.

Just as soon as the thoughts entered his mind, Snape shielded them, anxious that this mental cathexis might be reciprocal in kind. He had reacted impulsively and he felt immediately ashamed, hoping, most certainly in vain, that Albus would not feel this sudden reinforcement of his defenses. Despite his best wishes, he felt he had made a mockery of Albus's fine gesture. He had not heeded the Headmaster's words, had not even been able to imitate the posture of vulnerability which Albus had so eloquently embodied.

The rub was that he needn't have done it; the connection was one-way only. But Severus Snape, Potions Master, Double Agent extraordinaire, could not take the chance. Could not risk Albus knowing, _feeling_ what this meant to him.

That this was far more to him than an objectlesson in being 'unguarded.' That he was more than simply awed by a display of Albus's magical dexterity and finesse. That this was more profound than a simple sharing between friends. That, for him, nothing about this was uncomplicated. To say it changed things, changed him, would have been a gross understatement.

Snape understood, without question, that this was the most profound intimacy he had ever, or would ever experience. He could not let Albus see that.

And yet, though he might not see the affect he had had on Severus, truth be told, Albus Dumbledore felt something like it of his own.

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**_Author's Note: _**Longest chapter yet! Sorry for the delay….life has been extremely trying these past weeks.

Thank you for comng back for more despite the slow updates, and for all your wonderful reviews.

FYI: For those of you who aren't so keen on ffnet, I've finally found another chapter-by-chapter friendly site and am now posting this on Skyehawke as well! See my profile for the direct link.

This is, I think I have to say, my favorite chapter so far. I hope you enjoyed it as much I liked writing it. I've been working on it for a very long time….

Too bad Severus isn't an outdoors person, otherwise I think they might be snogging in no time, don't you think? But alas, things are never that simple. Beyond the obvious intensity of their conversations and Albus's grand gesture at the end, there is something so provocative about 'everything' being there for Severus to see, Seveurs being so close to knowing the truth, so close even perhaps to returning Albus's gesture in kind (oh if only!)

In the meantime, I am seriously on pins and needles waiting to know what you thought of this chapter and what in particular struck your fancy.

Please review and give your depressed author the gift of a momentary smile.


	11. Much more dangerous

**Title: **Unexpected Grace  
**Author:** Cocoa-Snape (aka CocoaSnape)  
**Disclaimer: **Harry Potter belongs exclusively to JKR…she is a goddess. I am making no money from this and I intend no copyright infringement.

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**Unexpected Grace  
**by **CocoaSnape  
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**Chapter 11: Much more dangerous**

Very little compared to sleeping in one's bed, Snape noted as he climbed under the covers. He'd been out of the hospital wing for a few days now and had relished reclaiming his privacy and sanity in his Pomfrey-free quarters.

It was still rather early for bedtime by Snape's standards, but he had a big day come tomorrow. Albus had informed him that if he still planned on using the time turner, he ought to as soon as possible, since the limits of its usefulness were fast approaching. Albus had also insisted on a good night's sleep in order to ease the transition into the new time period.

Snape had hoped to be in slightly better physical condition before traveling back the requisite weeks. He was still using a cane to walk, but with the right spells he could manage short distances without it, albeit with a pronounced limp. That would have to be good enough. He planned to leave first thing in the morning, after receiving some last minute instructions from Albus.

Not more than a few minutes after he laid down for the night, Snape jolted upright, clutching his suddenly aching left arm. He grit his teeth as the stabbing pain intensified and waited for it to transform into that terrifying familiar dull ache.

Eyeing the writhing snake, burning dark and angry on his forearm, Snape's heart began to race and he found it difficult to catch his breath.

He hadn't quite been expecting this yet – being summoned so soon after his last encounter, an encounter that had left him so near death. But, Snape reminded himself, it had been over a month since he'd last seen that madman. And no doubt the Dark Lord wanted to see how his servant had fared. Snape dressed hurriedly and steeled his mind, preparing to do what he might to prove himself worthy.

As he grabbed his cane, he issued a silent reminder to discard it before Apparating to the Dark Lord. Best not to show any sign of weakness.

His last stop on his way out was the floo. He considered speaking with Albus, but quickly decided against it and scribbled a note. He did not want to see Albus's anxiety, and he certainly did not want Albus to see his. Besides, the last thing he needed was to give Albus another opportunity to try and talk him out of going back.

With a cold sweat, Severus Snape was, for the first time, worried that he might agree.

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The moment Dumbledore had received Severus's note informing him of Voldemort's summons, he set about searching for something to occupy his tumultuous mind.

Eventually, he'd settled on cleaning. It was not something Dumbledore did very often, and found it both warranted and sufficiently time-consuming. Once he'd located the old bottle of polish he'd borrowed from Filch ages ago, he began painstakingly polishing each one his delicate gold and silver instruments. Best to do these things by hand when one needed distraction.

Now, three hours into the task, Dumbledore realized he'd ended up making more of a mess of his quarters than anything else. But he stubbornly turned his efforts to the sword of Gryffindor, while contemplating Severus's insistent attitude on returning as a spy and his own puzzling reaction to it.

Dumbledore had dedicated the better part of 25 years to stopping the threat that was Voldemort. He knew better than anyone what needed to be done to win this war. Despite the genuine idealism of his heart, he was, he had to be, a practical wizard, always ready and prepared to face and make hard choices, impossible decisions and horrible sacrifices. And there was no question in his mind of the immeasurable value of having a spy inside Voldemort's circle.

What Dumbledore could not have anticipated was his hesitation and uncertainty in the face of Severus's well thought out, logical, and persuasive arguments about the matter.

Dumbledore couldn't remember the last time he'd had such trouble thinking clearly. One of his greatest strengths was his ability to put the greater good above all else, even under the most difficult of circumstances. But in their discussions, it had been Severus who had been on the side of sacrifice, and he on the side of sentiment. It was Severus who had considered what needed to be done and how, the one who had led him toward the most profitable course of action for the Order.

All Dumbledore could think of, then and now, was that horrible morning when Severus had returned to him in agony, and how he never wanted for Severus to suffer like that again.

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Dumbledore was so lost in his troubled thoughts, he didn't feel Severus slipping past the outer wards and into the castle. Only when his own wards gave way did it register – Severus was back.

It took less than a minute for Severus to make it up the staircase, where Dumbledore was apprehensively waiting at the door for him.

"Severus, it's so good to see you, my boy! Are you alright?"

"I'm fine," Snape replied. With some difficulty, Snape hobbled over to the sitting room sofa, refusing Dumbledore's attempts to help him. "Albus, that's really not necessary. As I said, I'm fine."

Dumbledore countered, "You don't look fine."

"I'm alive, aren't I?" Snape replied with an amused smirk.

"Yes. Yes you are," Dumbledore said fondly. "But you _are _hurt."

"No," Snape lied, his grimaces of pain testifying to the contrary.

Dumbledore's keen eyes narrowed in Severus's direction.

Well aware that Albus's mind was whirling around the Cruciatus, Snape quickly corrected him, "It's not what you think, Albus. I just overexerted myself a bit walking to and from the Apparition point. Seems I am not yet ready for a marathon," Snape joked. He was in a very good mood. After all, it wasn't every day you managed to hoodwink the Dark Lord and survive.

"Should I get Poppy?"

"That won't be necessary."

A long minute of silence passed between them. Dumbledore was quite aware that Severus was struggling with how to begin, so finally he posed the gentle question, "He believes you?"

"He believes me," Snape confirmed, unable to find other words to express the relief of not having been wrong, of having that constant dread lifted off of his shoulders, at least temporarily.

"That is wonderful, Severus. I am…relieved. And I'm sure you must be as well." Dumbledore gestured to the teapot on the coffee table, "How about some tea while we talk?"

"Please."

Water was heated instantly and the tea poured. Dumbledore conjured a pillow and placed it behind Severus's back.

He was interested in the prophecy…just as you predicted. But unfortunately, he didn't share his strategy on how and when he plans on obtaining that information."

"These things will come in time, Severus," Dumbledore consoled. "No need to fret about that now. But you're skipping ahead, I believe."

"Yes." A pause. "He was very pleased at my return. We were right. It was a test."

"You sound almost surprised. After all, you were the one who convinced me."

"No…yes…well, I didn't expect…As strange as it must seem, I'd say based on our interactions, I may have the same standing as last time."

Snape didn't say it. He needn't have. Dumbledore knew exactly what that meant. Severus had always been one of Voldemort's favorites.

Snape continued, "You should have seen him – the perverse glee that I was okay. He seems to admire my capacity for pain." Snape paused before continuing, "The thought hadn't occurred to me beforehand. I had considered the test as one of loyalty alone."

Dumbledore considered Severus's words for a long moment before replying pensively, "Voldemort believes he has resurrected himself. By surviving his torture, you, in essence, have done the same. He may think of you as his protégé, now more than ever."

"Lucky me," Snape replied with a roll of his eyes. "Ultimately, Albus, it took very little on my part to convince him that I'm a triple agent."

Dumbledore and Snape had discussed the matter extensively. It was up to Snape to read the Dark Lord enough to know which story he would find the most believable in that moment. There were only two options, tell the Dark Lord he worked for him without Dumbledore's knowledge, or to tell him that he was a triple agent (and that Dumbledore believed he was a double agent for the side of the Light).

The former had its advantages – he would likely need to provide less information to the Dark Lord, since the Dark Lord would not know he was a member of the Order. But the latter provided more safety and leeway, which was why Dumbledore had strongly recommended that route if possible. Snape had had mere moments to access the Dark Lord mind on the matter. He recalled that crucial moment all too well.

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"_What did you tell that old fool after our last meeting?"_

_Snape barely perceived the emotions flitting across the Dark Lord's eyes as he said it. But that, and something in his tone was unmistakable and Snape knew immediately which cover story to present._

_"I did not have to explain myself, my Lord. I have allowed him to believe that I am acting on his orders…to spy on you, my Lord."_

_"Is that so?" came the narrow-eyed reply._

_Snape could all but see the wheels turning in the Dark Lord's head. He forced himself to remain calm as those red eyes scrutinized every part of him. Snape met the piercing gaze without an ounce of hesitation._

_Those moments felt like minutes, but eventually, a malevolent smirk of amusement appeared on the Dark Lord's visage. "He believes you are his secret weapon – and in the end, you will be his downfall. I cannot think of anything so fitting. You were always so very clever, Severus."_

_Snape did his best not to recoil at the almost affectionate__ tone. "Thank you, my Lord."_

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In the end, the triple agent cover story had, in fact, made Snape a quadruple agent for the Order of the Phoenix.

"How did you explain my trust in you?" Dumbledore inquired.

"I told him that I had spent the past 14 years insinuating myself into your good graces, garnering your trust. That you were a sucker for a repentant soul. _And_…." Snape continued, "that old age had begun to weaken your Legilimency."

"Did you now?" Dumbledore asked playfully.

"But damn it, Albus, if there haven't been times over the years that I didn't wish that were just a little bit true!"

Dumbledore chuckled and Snape couldn't help smiling himself.

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Two cups of tea later, Snape had exhausted every last detail of the meeting.

"In the end, I think I'm as well positioned as we could hope for."

Severus said it so nonchalantly, but Albus knew all too well how much Severus had overcome to get to this point – the nightmare he had suffered and then the nightmares he had had to fight in order to return to that monster. And even though a large part of Albus wished that Severus hadn't taken the risk, he knew that Severus had done it largely for him. And so he made sure that Severus felt the sincerity of his next words.

"Naturally, the Order is very grateful for what you're doing, Severus. But I want you to know, dear boy, that _I_ am very proud of you."

Snape turned his gaze away as casually as he could, determined not to meet Dumbledore's eyes in that moment, so that he might not see the way those simple words affected him. He had never been good at accepting praise, especially from Albus. He caught a glimpse of the sword and the polish on the Headmaster's desk and used it to change the subject.

"I see you've had a busy night," Snape said, taking in Dumbledore's ramshackled office in a sweeping gesture.

Dumbledore smiled. "I couldn't sleep."

"Ah…so this is what you do when you're restless?" Snape asked, gesturing toward the sword. "Wreak havoc on your office and obsessively polish the family heirlooms?"

Snape had said it in jest, but to his surprise, Dumbledore merely smiled at him.

"Albus? You…I…Bloody Merlin, you can't mean?…I'm right, aren't I?!"

"I never said anything of the sort, Severus," Dumbledore denied with a twinkle in his eye.

"You're really Gryffindor's—"

Dumbledore smoothly interrupted, "Would you care for more tea, Severus?"

Snape gaped at Albus for a long moment before nodding.

"So, Severus, are you still planning on using the time turner tomorrow morning then, or has this evening changed your plans?"

What? Oh…" Snape said, trying to concentrate on Dumbledore's words rather than the meaning of what he'd just learned. "Yes, I'm still going."

"I think you should reconsider. After all, you are in pain, and…"

"Albus, we've discussed this. I won't be doing anything strenuous. I'll cancel most of my classes, and sit at my desk for a few to make a show of it. It won't be a problem."

"If you insist."

"Well, I suppose I should go." Snape made to stand, but his winced sharply at the movement.

Dumbledore immediately moved to his side in concern. Taking a seat beside the other man, he said, "Severus, turn around."

"Albus—" Snape began in protest.

"Severus," Dumbledore sighed, "could you stop being so difficult, just for once?"

At that, Snape reluctantly adjusted his position on the sofa so that his back was facing Dumbledore. Even that slight motion was painful – the aching in his back had become worse, but he pretended it was nothing. "I'd really rather you didn't bother, Albus."

"Perhaps you're right. I'll just call Poppy then," Dumbledore suggested.

"Don't start with the threats now," Snape said in mock outrage.

"Then stop arguing and let me have a look," Dumbledore replied and pulled out his wand.

Even with his back turned, Snape could sense the motion and instinctively asked in a rush, "What are you going to do?"

"You don't trust me?" Dumbledore asked. "I think I picked up a few things while in the hospital wing with you."

Snape could feel Dumbledore begin to run the wand over his back, could feel the tip trailing in smooth arcs up and down and side to side, and then suddenly a strange tingling sensation that transformed into a gentle warmth that spread through his taut muscles, coaxing them to loosen. Albus seemed to be concentrating on one spot in particular, on the right lower part of his back, and Severus dimly wondered how Albus knew that was where the worst of his pain was centered. He could sense Albus behind him, silent in concentration, and it was almost as though he could visualize the incantation that Albus was forging in his head. As his muscles loosened further, he stifled a groan at how good this felt, realizing that enough time had passed that he should issue another protest, even though the last thing he wanted was for this welcome relief to end.

And then he felt Albus whisper behind him, "How is that?"

"What to say to that? Snape considered the question for a moment – he wanted to say it felt heavenly. "It's fine."

"Take off your coat."

"What?"

"Your coat."

"Why?" Snape asked, then realized he had said it in almost a panic.

"Severus, don't be silly now. You must be wearing at least ten layers of clothing. This will work much better without it. Here, let me help you."

Snape didn't know how it happened, but the next thing he knew Albus had helped him take off his waist coat while lecturing him on how acquiring a summer wardrobe wouldn't be amiss. And then the wand returned to his back once more, now trailing circles against the thin cotton fabric of his shirt.

_Oh._ That did feel much better, and much more intense.

Heavenly heat was flooding into him, and he could now feel the little puffs of breath that were Albus's whispered incantations, suddenly making him acutely aware of how very close Albus was behind him.

Relief spread across his back, even as a palpable discomfort grew throughout the rest of him. His pulse quickened and his throat felt suddenly bone dry.

"Does that feel better?" Albus whispered gently, almost directly in his ear.

"Yes," Snape managed to squeak out, and to his horror, a deep flush entered his face and spread over his neck and down into his chest.

And then, without warning, Albus's hands were touching the base of his back, and all the blood drained from Snape's face. He flinched, and barely stopped himself from bolting up from the sofa.

"What's wrong, Severus? Did I hurt you?"

"No," Snape replied quickly. "I was feeling better...I mean I am feeling better. Thank you, Albus."

"Severus, are you sure I didn't—"

"I'm fine," Snape replied. Taking in the look of confusion on Albus's face, Snape realized he needed to pull himself together fast and find a much better excuse. It took him but a second, but he wasn't an exceptional Occlumens for nothing.

Indicating the spot Albus had touched on his back, Snape said with a slight grimace. "It's just a bit sore, that's all," he lied, making sure not to look at Albus directly as he said it. "But the spell worked wonders actually, thank you. It feels much better." Being sure to leave no doubt as to his discomfort, he made no effort to leave just yet. "I'd like it if you could show me that charm."

"I'm glad of it, my boy," Dumbledore said with a smile. "I'll write up the charm for you first thing in the morning."

Snape paused deliberately, intent on appearing as at ease as possible after his startled reaction to Albus's touch. "Well, I suppose I should turn in," he said casually, but he could feel his heart pounding in his chest.

"Would you like me to walk you to your quarters?"

"No, no, that's not necessary. I'll just take it slow. Goodnight, Albus."

"Goodnight, Severus. Sleep well."

Snape made his way with almost an exaggeratedly slow pace to the oak door of Dumbledore's chambers, struggling to control his racing heart. Once he closed the door, however, and was on the stairs, he took them hurriedly down and out past the gargoyle, stopping immediately to lean against the stone wall in the corridor where he closed his eyes and heaved several deep breaths.

For one crazy moment he thought he was ill, feverish. Until he recognized the feeling for what it was.

'_What the bloody hell are you doing, Severus?'_

Snape walked briskly back to his quarters, completely oblivious to the pain in his back.

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Snape adjusted the covers, but knew by now that sleep would be a hopeless proposition tonight. He'd tried to occupy his mind with something else – first by considering his lesson plans for the preceding classes he was about to teach, then by reading his favorite Potions journal, and now, by counting the flecks of granite in the ceiling. Anything to stop his mind from wandering _there _again.

But it was no use. Inevitably, he found himself reliving those minutes again. Albus, just inches behind him, whispering into his ear. Albus, touching him, running his hand over his back. And then…imagining that it had been far more, imagining that hand creeping around his waist, imagining…

_No_. Snape stopped the errant thought immediately and for the umpteenth time that evening reminded himself that Albus was his mentor and his best friend. And that nothing Albus had done had _ever_ suggested anything more.

When he had first come to Hogwarts to take the teaching post, still very much an arrogant youth, how quickly all that anger and resentment toward Albus had turned into something else. He hadn't even really known Albus then, just as the Headmaster. And perhaps, he considered, the feelings then arose more out of a misguided attachment born out of a grateful reverence and an idolization of Dumbledore's power. A young foolish boy lusting after the only man who'd ever shown him an ounce of real affection.

However imprudent they might have been, the feelings had been real. And although then he'd been arrogant enough to hope, he could have not permitted the possibility of rejection. So he simply stopped having those feelings. Case closed. That is not to say it was easy. Far from it, but if there was one thing Severus Snape was good at, it was accepting that certain things were never meant for him, including the type of happiness people found in each other.

And now for these same notions to return again? Snape corrected his logic abruptly. Not the same. Nothing about this was the same, or nearly as simple. Fourteen years ago, Albus had merely saved him from death, but over the years, he'd given him back his life. Albus may not have been a lover, but he had become a better friend to him than he could have ever hoped for. And once, he might have thought that that would be enough.

In truth, Snape acknowledged that those feelings had never really gone away fourteen years ago, but had only grown in their honesty, and were now based in years of friendship, sacrifice and trust. Making it so much harder to pretend they weren't there.

He might have had a chance at keeping up the pretense, Snape thought, had it not been for recent events.

He'd known it was happening – should have known, but he had allowed himself to get swept up in each of Albus's kindnesses, each conversation, each comfort, in each moment that intensified their friendship. The reassurance of seeing Albus nearly all day every day, the thrill of that something new developing between them. He'd lost himself in it. How could not? Snape couldn't remember the last time he'd felt so comfortable, so cherished. And of course Albus would make him feel that way – he made everyone feel that way – as if they were the most important thing in the world. It was his gift.

And then Albus had done the unthinkable and delivered the last crushing blow to any and all rationalizations. He'd opened his mind to him. And how was he supposed to respond? With curiosity or amusement? Perhaps that was what Albus had expected. Indeed Snape had, for the briefest of moments before being completely overcome with a barrage of other emotions – privilege, awe and euphoria. And ultimately, to his eternal shame, desire.

That he had taken all of what had happened between them in the past weeks, in that singular moment, and had let it turn into '_this_' – it made him feel deeply ashamed. He cursed himself for falling into the trap of thinking, even subconsciously, that it had been more. But worst of all, for needing it to be.

And now, staring intently at the stone ceiling, Snape knew this could not continue. Fourteen years ago his only real concern at the Headmaster finding out would have been the resultant humiliation. But now, the consequences were far more severe – losing Albus. And for what? For something that could be, when he had so much. Genuine smiles, friendly gestures of affection, unforced intimacy and comfortable companionship. A mentor to discuss every serious issue under the sun and a friend to share the most trivial of topics in the middle of a sleepless night.

It was then and there that Snape decided he would forget all of this. He had done it once before, buried the feelings, transmuted them into friendship. And now, however impossible it seemed, he would do it again. He had to.

Because it would be nothing short of madness to continue along this road – tempting, easy, but mad. Not to mention that Snape knew it was incredibly dangerous to feel these things. Dangerous if the Dark Lord were to catch a glimpse of his emotions.

More dangerous perhaps, Snape reflected, if Albus did.

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_**Author's Note: **_Thanks everyone for the response to the last chapter. I was overwhelmed with your kind words. Thanks for sticking by this slow to update story. I pour my soul into this one, and it means a lot!

My goal with this chapter was to finally get an inside look of Snape's feelings (just as he's figuring them out for himself no less!!). Regarding Snape's discovery, I also wanted to leave a lot up to your imagination if you follow. An important note based on some comments I've gotten – and this is pertinent to this chapter as well - Dumbledore is not omniscient in this story, just as he is not in canon.

For those who might be interested, I've started the sequel to Light on the Dark Side of Me, entitled In Memory's Wake (posted here). Although this is a snarry, I promise Dumbledore and Snape's relationship (paternal, strong friendship) will figure very largely in the plot. Much more significantly, in fact, than in the prequel. Hope you check it out.

Thanks so much for reading.

Can't wait to hear your thoughts on the chapter.


	12. And so he never saw

**Title: **Unexpected Grace  
**Author:** Cocoa-Snape (aka CocoaSnape)  
**Disclaimer: **Harry Potter belongs exclusively to JKR…she is a goddess. I am making no money from this and I intend no copyright infringement.

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**Author's Note: **I know that apologies for the long break since the last update are not enough, but I offer them regardless. Thank you for coming back for more and for your support and to everyone who asked me when/if I was going to continue. I'm so happy to see so many people want more of this story. It was never my intention to delay updating for so long. Now since it's been a long while, I thought it prudent to write a little summary of what's happened so far in case you don't feel much like re-reading. So here is a general overview from the top.

**Summary of previous chapters: **UG opens during GoF, where Snape's dark mark has returned and he knows he will have to go back to Voldemort as a spy – part of him terrified, the other determined to do what he needs to do for the Order, himself and Albus. Snape asks Dumbledore to give him a refresher course in Occlumency, during which time we quickly learn that Severus and Albus share a deep friendship. Through flashbacks, we learn more about their past relationship and how it has evolved over the years, and find that Severus has been in love with Dumbledore for a very long time.

Severus's return to Voldemort does not go well. He has been tortured to within an inch of his life and Poppy is convinced he will not survive his injuries. He is in a coma for a few days, but he does awaken. During his multi-week rehabilitation, Albus does not leave his side. Albus promises him a time turner so that he can go back and attend the last week of class he missed in return for obeying Poppy's medical orders.

During this period of recovery in the hospital wing, we learn that perhaps Albus's feelings are also a bit more complicated than what Severus might believe. In response to Severus's persistent nightmares, Dumbledore suggests that Severus speak about the traumatic encounter, but Severus refuses. In an attempt to refute Severus's assertion that secrecy is power, Dumbledore opens his mind to Severus who is overwhelmed and finds the experience euphoric in more ways than one.

In the last chapter: Snape is finally out the hospital wing. Snape's feelings for Albus are beginning to overwhelm him. When he complains of a sore back, Albus offers a massage and Albus's ministrations inspire a certain reaction from our potions master which he is keen to conceal. Cursing himself for fantasizing about things he knows cannot be, he decides he must block these feelings he has for Albus so that they are not discovered.  
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**Unexpected Grace  
**by **CocoaSnape**

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****Chapter 12: And so he never saw**

Snape studied the golden amulet in his hand with interest. When Dumbledore had handed it to him last night, a part of him had expected a different device, a time turner Dumbledore himself had modified or created. But it was the same familiar piece he'd seen before. The difference, he was told, was the series of charms Dumbledore would cast that would enable him to travel back further than was typically possible and legal according to the Ministry's regulations on approved time turner use.

To say it was unorthodox to go back that far was nothing short of an understatement. Yet and still, the plan was a simple one. Snape would was use the time turner to go back four weeks to the night of his N.E.W.T. review session – four days after his encounter with the Dark Lord. He would make his first public appearance at that evening's dinner, which would also serve to alert the past Dumbledore to his presence in that timeline. After the review session, he was to use the time turner to skip forward the requisite hours and teach his classes on Monday, just as his 'other self' was waking from a coma in the hospital wing. By canceling half of the week's classes – a common practice during the last week of school – and using the time turner to skip forward between them, he would greatly limit the amount of time spent under the time turner's control.

Snape felt the wards around his quarters being prodded, and he lowered them to permit his unexpected visitor's entrance. Not that Dumbledore needed the wards lowered to enter, but the fact that he had 'knocked,' so to speak, informed Snape that this wasn't an emergency visit.

Dumbledore bustled in, his ruby robes so vivid they seemed to illuminate room of their own accord. "Good morning, Severus."

"Good morning," came the belated reply.

"How's your back feeling? Better I hope."

"Oh… yes."

Dumbledore extended his hand, and Snape stared at it for long a moment before accepting the slip of paper being offered. "The charm I promised you last night," Dumbledore explained.

"Oh. Thank you," Snape replied, suddenly cognizant of the fact that he was unable to string together anything but a series of banal responses. His mind was wandering, reliving that delightful sensation of Albus soothing his back with that charm. It was a bit awkward seeing Albus after last night, after having spent hours in bed trying to rid the errant thoughts from his mind. But as always, Dumbledore had a gift for putting him at ease. And Dumbledore's relaxed demeanor reassured Severus that his own odd behavior the other evening had gone unnoticed.

"How about some breakfast?" Dumbledore suggested cheerfully.

Snape was less than a second away from saying he wasn't hungry before Dumbledore added, "And please don't say you're not hungry. I know you haven't eaten."

"Those house elves are traitorous," Snape grumbled.

Dumbledore chuckled brightly as he wandlessly transfigured Snape's desk into a table with two chairs. "Not at all, they are quite loyal… to me. I want to be sure you have a proper breakfast before you leave, my boy. Knowing you, you won't eat for the next week."

"That's hardly possible."

"Actually, it is perfectly possible," Dumbledore corrected teasingly.

Snape understood at once. Albus was alluding to the week he'd be using the time turner – which woulfd be no more than 24 hours to him.

Seconds later, a basket appeared in Dumbledore's hands, and from it he pulled out a linen tablecloth and a set of fine china.

"Albus, isn't this a bit much?" Snape asked in amazement.

"Oh, you know how much I enjoy excess, my boy," Dumbledore replied enthusiastically. "Besides, once you're rid of that," Dumbledore said, gesturing to the cane Severus was leaning on for support, "I won't have a valid excuse to force food on you."

"As if that would stop you," Snape remarked jovially.

"Quite right you are, dear boy," Dumbledore replied, returning Severus's gaze with wink as he began to set the table.

Severus wasn't at all surprised that Albus did so without the use of magic – it was one of Albus's many endearing qualities, his insistence that there were some things that should only be done by hand.

He observed as Albus gently arranged the silver flatware that had suddenly appeared in his palms. There was no sign of age in his movements as Albus walked gracefully around the table. He conjured a small vase, and his eyes were twinkling with amusement as he played with variations of flowers, deciding which suited the table best. He flashed Severus a smile when he finally settled on baby yellow carnations. He was the epitome of charm in that moment, so full of joy at the simplest thing – it was impossible not to be completely absorbed by it.

Quite belatedly, it occurred to Severus that instead of standing there and staring at Albus, he probably should have offered his assistance. But he couldn't tear his eyes from those long fingers gently smoothing down the edges of the white linen tablecloth with meticulous precision. When Albus looked up, Severus averted his eyes.

"There," Dumbledore announced with a sigh of satisfaction. "All done."

As Severus took the proffered seat, he asked, "Are we celebrating something?"

"Yes we are," Dumbledore replied warmly. "Your recovery."

They tucked into the food the house elves delivered and the conversation turned to business.

"It is essential you are conscious of the time, Severus," Dumbledore reminded. "The less you spend in that timeline, the better it will be for your health." Dumbledore was aware that Severus's insistence on returning was motivated not by his desire to actually teach (except perhaps his N.E.W.T. review session), but to quell any rumors his absence might have caused. "I believe your presence at a few classes here and there should be enough to eliminate any suspicion."

"And the Leaving Feast," Snape added. "I would like to hear your words about Mr. Diggory."

Dumbledore nodded solemnly. Both men remained silent for a long minute.

"There's something I've been curious about, Albus," Snape began. "These charms you plan on casting, what exactly are they?"

"Protective shields to mitigate the deleterious side effects of extreme time travel. I designed them with shorter time periods in mind though, so I cannot give you too accurate an estimation of how long they will last," Dumbledore said pensively. "But they should be effective anywhere from 12 to 24 hours."

"And what kind of side effects are the charms shielding precisely?" Snape asked as he fended off the bacon pieces Albus was attempting to shove onto his plate.

"Severus, you've hardly eaten at thing," Dumbledore grumbled. "What were we saying? Ah, yes… the side effects. Again, that is best left to the realm of guesswork. The sudden jump to four weeks back in time would mean a significant disruption of your circadian rhythms."

"I don't imagine that would feel pleasant."

"I would think not," Dumbledore agreed. "The charms mimic the time you are in now; essentially deceiving your body to believe you have not left the present."

"That's quite ingenious," Snape replied with admiration, his interest piqued. "And where exactly did the theory behind these charms originate?"

Dumbledore chuckled. "That, my boy, is a long story and one we don't have time for at the moment."

Snape smirked, reached inside his pocket, pulled out the time turner and looked at it suggestively.

Dumbledore began to laugh.

"You walked right into that one, Albus," Snape said with a smile. "I couldn't resist."

Dumbledore's smile began to slowly fade, and his expression turned serious. "Severus, I know I've said this before, but this is very important," Dumbledore said, leaning forward in his chair. "If at any point you begin to feel ill…"

"I know, Albus," Snape interjected, "I should return immediately."

"Yes. Even if that means you haven't finished out the week."

Snape nodded his understanding. He studied the golden device in his hand once more. It struck him as strange, not for the first time, that he would be breaking the cardinal rule of the time turner. To not be seen. That, in fact, he was going back in time with precisely the opposite intention. There would be limited repercussions, of course, because his past self would be safely stowed away from public eye in the hospital wing. Hence almost no one would be the wiser. Almost.

The thought prompted Snape to re-ask the question that had been at the forefront of his mind since the decision to return. "I still have not heard a satisfactory explanation of how it is you and Minerva will be able to see me walking about and not ask questions." After all, both would know he was in a coma.

"If I knew precisely, Severus, I would surely tell you. But in any case, I imagine I'll be far and away too preoccupied with you in the hospital wing to give _you _too much thought."

They took their time finishing breakfast, and Dumbledore asked Severus to come see him after he'd finished his trip through time.

"Well, then," Snape said, "I'll see you in a week, Albus."

With a sparkle in his eye, Dumbledore replied, "And I'll see you… in a few minutes."

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It was nothing more than a whim – a bizarre impulse. Certainly not something he'd at all carefully considered. But it had been nagging at him during the long weeks of his recovery as he watched his body mend, and still more recently as came to terms with the fact that he would be returning as a spy once more. And now that the opportunity was there in front of him, he could not miss seeing himself, seeing exactly what the Dark Lord had done to him.

It wouldn't adversely impact the plan, Snape rationalized. He could take a peek at himself for a minute or two and then use the time turner to skip forward to Sunday, the night of the N.E.W.T. review session. He knew he was trying to convince himself that he wasn't breaking his vow to Albus to do only what was necessary. But he was beginning to realize that this was necessary for him, and Snape felt certain that Albus wouldn't begrudge him this after he'd explained his reasons why. That being said, this excursion required additional precautions. He'd need to stay hidden from Poppy, so he made sure to fetch a small amber vial from his potions stores.

Standing in the middle of his quarters, Snape turned the time turner's dial not only the number of clicks Dumbledore had specified, but also added a few more. The transition was a rapid one, the only real sign of the change the intermittent movement of some of his books he'd read or perused over the past few days. It was extraordinarily subtle – he could not see the days changing into nights and vice versa in the shelter of the dungeons. When he finally felt the pull of magic around him cease, he glanced at the magical clock on his wall which confirmed the date and time, Thursday the 29th of June, 10 am.

That was close enough. He would be in the hospital wing now and based on what Pomfrey had told him, Hagrid had probably brought him in from the edge of the Forbidden Forest a few hours before. Snape pulled the tiny vial of liquid out of his pocket. Invisibility potion was extremely rare, extraordinarily expensive, and all but impossible to brew. Not the wisest use of such a precious commodity, Snape reflected, but then again, he'd only need a drop for 30 minutes of invisibility – plenty to steal a glance at himself without anyone being the wiser.

Snape made his way cautiously towards the hospital wing, careful to avoid contact with anyone. Outside the door, he placed a single drop on his tongue, cast a dampening charm on his feet, and made his way inside. He passed the main ward where Harry Potter, Alastor Moody, Viktor Krum, and Fleur Delacour still lay recovering from their encounter of the previous eve. Other students were milling about as well, demanding the attentions of Poppy's assistant. Snape managed to avoid colliding with a couple of them as he made his way towards Poppy's office. But before he could step inside, however, Snape realized that Pomfrey had warded it. _Damn_.

He considered the best way to disarm the wards without attracting attention, before something occurred to him. His other self was already inside. Shouldn't the wards recognize him as well? Snape took a deep breath and took a step forward. He felt the momentary upsurge of magic from the wards, but then it was gone. He was inside.

Inside her office, the medi-witch was decanting several potions that Snape recognized as the ones he had brewed for Cruciatus overdose. She looked haggard; her hair was a complete mess. The back door was ajar, but not enough so that he could slip through it without being noticed, so he remained fixed on the spot waiting for Poppy to open the door herself. He did not have to wait long. After another minute, she placed the potions on a tray and headed to the private room. Snape followed closely behind.

As he moved down the familiar corridor, the screams were the first thing that struck him, and Snape instantly wondered who else was back there. The door to the room in which he lay was open, and he could see Albus sitting at his bedside within, obscuring the view of his self. Pomfrey transferred the potions to the magical intravenous drip and left after briefly checking his vitals.

It occurred to Snape then that if Albus turned around, he might be able to see him. Albus was able to see through invisibility cloaks, after all. Would he be able to see through an invisibility potion as well? Snape had no idea, but it struck him then that if anyone could, it would be Albus.

So Snape found a spot outside of Pomfrey's foot traffic with a clear view of the room and the needed cover of a stone pillar in case he needed to hide hurriedly. Dumbledore's gaze, however, did not waver once from the man in the bed, whose hisses of pain seemed to only be growing louder. Snape wanted to get closer, to get a look at himself, but realized he could not do so without physically stepping inside the room and risking Albus spotting him.

Dumbledore was saying something, but Snape could not discern the words. Hoping the elder wizard was too distracted to notice, Snape cast an eavesdropping charm, and a moment later, he could hear everything with complete clarity.

'_The Dark Lord, he knows… he'll know how I feel… He'll kill me.'_

Snape realized it was his own voice – although barely – it was so hoarse, he could scarcely recognize it.

'_He'll __know__! He'll see it in an instant! You can't imagine his rage when he finds out.'_

Dumbledore moved a fraction to the left, and Snape finally got his first glimpse of his other self – he barely stifled a gasp. Realizing how serious such a slip would be, he cast a silencing charm on his person for good measure.

Concentrating his attention once more on his counterpart, he realized that Pomfrey and Dumbledore hadn't lied about the state he'd been in when they'd first found him. The convulsions were so violent, they made the weeks of tremors that followed pale in comparison. As Snape caught sight of Dumbledore's face for the first time, he realized that he did not need to worry about Dumbledore seeing him – his eyes, his entire focus was glued to his convulsing form. And Snape found it difficult not to stare as well.

He felt so disconnected from the person he was watching, the body in that bed, felt it difficult to recognize the suffering man as himself. He had no memory of these events, and that made it easy to imagine that he was watching some other man endure this.

His counterpart was screaming now, outright screaming, and Dumbledore looked as if he were losing his mind. He was pacing about, trying to reassure the ill man, but everything he said, every movement he made only seemed to make matters worse. Dumbledore looked every bit his age then, exhausted and fragile. Almost as though he'd caught the disease of the afflicted man lying in that room.

After a few more minutes of this, Snape checked his watch. He had five minutes of invisibility left. But he had seen enough of this anyway, enough of his state, enough of Albus's clear desperation.

He was about to leave when suddenly he felt his feet rooted to the floor.

Dumbledore was levitating the ill man's body off the bed – it did a strange dance in the air, twisting in awkward directions. And then the elder wizard climbed into the spot the man had just occupied and lowered the body, _his_ body, down on top of his, using his arms and legs to steady the convulsions in lieu of a restraining charm.

Snape watched the scene with a strange mixture of fascination and shock, seeing as the tension melted off of his self, as his body began slowly to calm and still as Albus whispered simple instructions into his ear.

'_It's alright, Severus, breathe for me now.'_

Snape found he needed the instruction as much as the ailing man. He was suddenly unable to turn away from this scene.

'_That's right, focus on my chest. We're breathing together, just feel my chest rising and falling.'_

In almost a trance, Snape sank down on the stone floor. He couldn't quite shake the feeling that he shouldn't be here – shouldn't be watching this. He felt a bit like a voyeur. But still he reached into his pocket and placed another drop of potion on his tongue.

'_That's it… nice and slow, deep calm breaths, that's it. Good boy.'_

A few minutes later, Pomfrey entered the room. Snape noticed her shock at the sudden presence of the Headmaster in her patient's bed. Dumbledore, on the other hand, didn't even seem to notice her company.

Dumbledore was still speaking softly, sometimes whispering reminders that everything was alright, other times murmuring words of nonsense. And it seemed to be working. In between the convulsions, his counterpart appeared to have calmed enough to catch fitful stretches of rest.

This time, when Pomfrey left, she closed the door behind her, perhaps to drown out his screams when the next convulsion hit, perhaps to preserve the men's privacy. Despite himself, Snape was now too far gone to remember that he shouldn't be here. He cast a translucence charm on the wall giving him an unfettered view of everything within.

He watched as Albus smoothed away the sweaty hair clumped on his face and wiped his brow with a moist cloth. He could see how relaxed he was in Albus's arms, how easily, how perfectly Albus had alleviated his suffering as nothing else would.

'_I have you, Severus,'_ Albus whispered in the man's ear. _'I have you…'_ he repeated, as he gently stroked his hair.

It was an incredible sight – his body cocooned against Albus's, the elder wizard's arms wrapped around him in a protective embrace. A startling level of physical intimacy regardless of the circumstances.

He wondered then what it would have been like to remember this, and not just to witness it from this outside perspective, watching that stranger receive these comforts, not himself. And Snape felt a pang of loss then for not having remembered this, for not learning what it felt like to have Albus holding him this way, at least once in his life, even if it was only because he was near death.

And when the convulsions came, Albus did everything to soothe him, didn't flinch in the least when he retched in the bed or soiled the sheets. And to think he'd been grateful for Albus's help in the hospital wing during the weeks of his recovery. That all seemed meaningless now compared to this, compared to the sheer physical and mental exhaustion of taking care of him for these hours. How could he possibly ever repay Albus for such kindness – as though he didn't already owe him enough?

'_Don't send me back there.'_

The words echoed loudly in his ears, and Snape's eyes flew open, mirroring the wide-eyed crazed expression on his counterpart's face. His breathing halted as he thought, hoped, that maybe he had misheard. But it wasn't so.

'_I can't go back… please don't send me, Albus. You were supposed to protect me.'_

Snape was lost in the torrent of words leaving the frantic man's mouth, and he felt a hot wave of shame pass over him. How could he be saying those things? How could he be so cowardly, so selfish?

So much made sense now. It was no wonder that in their discussions during his recovery, he had had an impossible time convincing Albus to even consider letting him return, that he looked perpetually guilty whenever the issue of his spying had come. And that when pressed, Albus had said he didn't believe Severus's desire to return as a spy. And no wonder! Here he was, begging Albus to spare him. The more he took in Albus's guilt-ridden expression, the more ill he felt.

Snape eyed the man lying in that bed with growing anger, verging ever closer to hatred. That man looked and sounded like him, but there, the similarity ended. That man was a coward. And to say those things in front of Albus of all people! If he were Dumbledore, he would have been embarrassed for him.

And the admissions did not end there as Snape watched the scene unfold in front of him. His pleas grew more frantic, more insane, and to his dismay, more revealing. His unconscious seemed to pour out of him – a plethora of fearful confessions and weaknesses, each more potent than the last.

He wished it was a dream, a horrible nightmare. But there it was in front of him, an undeniable reality. Him screaming for Dumbledore to spare him, protect him. Howling frantically for the pain to stop. Whimpering like a five year old as he shed desperate tears, pleading for mercy, from the Dark Lord, from his father, from anyone who'd ever wronged him.

A shame curled out from inside him, so heavy, so deep, he thought it might swallow him whole. His head was beginning to spin – or was it the room? – and as the nausea and dizziness took over, he felt as though he had lost all control of his body. Snape stumbled back into the stone wall and slumped down against it, his legs no longer able support his weight.

To put the humiliation he felt into words would have been impossible. His throat was burning, threatening to suffocate him and his head felt as though it were about to explode.

'_I'm so sorry, Severus. Please forgive me. Please forgive me.'_

His stomach heaved. Amidst all his admissions, it was Albus's soft apologies that broke him. The very idea that Albus had placed any of this burden, any of it at all, on himself was too much. No, Snape corrected mentally, Albus hadn't placed that burden there. He had. He had loaded it all on Albus. And nothing Snape had said afterwards could take that away, because Albus wouldn't believe it.

Of course part of him didn't want to go back, a part of him was terrified. But intellectually, Snape knew he needed to go for his own well-being, to repair the damage he'd done to others, to himself, when he'd agreed to join that monster's cause. That decision had been his own many years ago, and so too was going back, this time for the right reasons. There was empowerment in that.

One thing was for certain, Snape would no longer be thanking Albus for his help this night. That was now out of the question; he couldn't possibly mention it after seeing this. That would be too mortifying to even contemplate. Hundreds of apologies would not suffice to rid him of the shame.

No, Snape resolved, he would never mention this to Albus. Never. How could he even look Albus in the eye again? Then the thought hit him. He had. For weeks after these events, although he hadn't known what had happened here between them at the time. But, dear Merlin, Albus had known! Snape's stomach lurched again at the thought.

Then it dawned on him that Albus hadn't brought it up either. Surely in the weeks they'd spent together Albus might have mentioned to him that he was conscious for hours and hours and that he'd been there through it. Or he might have at least asked Severus if he remembered the ordeal. But he hadn't. And it couldn't have been more apparent as to why. Albus must have been equally mortified by the words Severus was speaking. Mortified for Severus. Even embarrassed by his weakness. It was one thing to admit fear, but this? This was disgusting.

Snape swallowed roughly, trying to force the acrid taste from his mouth. He didn't want to see this anymore. He wanted to leave, to run away and forget this. And yet he did not. He could not explain why it was he stayed… whether it was horrible fascination or stunned paralysis, he could not say.

And so he watched that man, that traitor that looked like him. Watched him admit his weaknesses, one after the other, and watched that trembling body tacitly betray all that was left unsaid.

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Through a small gap in the drapes, Snape could make out the sun finish its descent past the horizon. It was becoming darker and darker with each passing minute and there was little light in the room save for the candles on the wall. Snape still hadn't moved. As the minutes melted into hours, his body had grown quite cold sitting on the stone, his back aching from being motionless for so long, but he ignored it, his focus entirely on the sight in front of him.

Anger and humiliation had since transmuted into a numb disbelief and the knowledge that nothing else could shake him. That was until the very next moment, however, when Snape's world turned upside down.

He would have fallen down had he not already been sitting against the wall. His words – no, not _his_ words – the words of that other man struck him with a terrible the force, and his chest constricted as if a massive stone had been placed upon it.

'_I love you.'_

He could not believe what he was seeing, hearing. He had said those words… aloud. Snape's life seemed to flash before his eyes, akin to someone experiencing impending death. Because that's what this was. It was a bombshell nothing could have prepared him for.

And then, his other self repeated the words again – _'I love you, Albus'_ – as if a little doubt would hurt?! What Albus must think of him! The weight on his chest intensified, robbing him of all air, of all the blood to his brain.

Snape instinctively clutched the time turner hanging around his neck, wondering for one insane moment if he could use it to go back in time and prevent these events from transpiring. If only he could somehow run into that room and shake that man that was him and make him take it all back. To his dismay, Snape realized that that was impossible.

Instead, he studied Albus's features carefully, trying to gauge his reaction. All he could accurately discern was surprise, clear surprise on Dumbledore's part. No overt disgust at the very least. As the seconds passed, it became apparent that Albus was giving those words the same credence that he had his other delusional rants. If not only for the reason that a second later, Dumbledore repeated it, _'I love you too, Severus. Now please try and get some rest.'_

Despite himself, Snape sucked in a breath as he heard those words escape Albus's lips, savoring this singular moment that would never come again – having Albus return his sentiment. No, not the sentiment, Snape corrected himself harshly. His own admission had been the closest thing to the truest words he'd ever spoken to Albus. It was obvious to him, painfully obvious in fact, that Albus was humoring his dementia, saying anything to calm the half-insane man trembling in arms.

Distantly, Snape wondered if this would create awkwardness between them. His mind raced back to the weeks in the hospital wing, and he couldn't think of any time Albus had felt ill at ease. Perhaps he'd been right, Albus hadn't taken his words as a confession, but as a delusion, or perhaps even as the words of one friend to another.

Oddly, Snape found that he was more dismayed than he was comforted by that knowledge.

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It was very late now, and Snape eyed the empty amber vial in his hand, wondering how it was that he'd managed to use up his entire supply of invisibility potion. Glancing at his watch, he realized he'd spent far too many hours watching this, squandering much of the time he'd allotted to spend under the time turner's control. Now he'd have to cancel even more classes and do so without raising Albus's suspicions as to why.

He'd been so interested to know what had happened in this room. The curiosity had plagued him. He'd gone through so much trouble to find out. And after all of it, all he felt was sick. Sick to his stomach at what he had witnessed, wishing that he hadn't come here to this moment, that he hadn't seen any of it at all.

Rage bloomed inside him, filling him to the brim, threatening to overflow at any moment. And then he heard his counterpart speaking, pleading, confessing his fear.

'_I'm scared, Albus.'_

The dam exploded. He could not take this anymore. Not one more minute of watching Albus listen to his pathetic, unwanted admissions. Not one more second of Albus's efforts to respond to his madness.

Rage mingled and mutated into fierce hatred. In that moment, Snape couldn't remember ever feeling such revulsion for anyone as he did for _that_ man, that sick, pathetic shell of a man that lay in that bed bearing his countenance.

He stood quickly, his body stiff from immobility. He began to walk away from the scene, into Poppy's office, down the hospital wing hall and out into the corridor.

The eavesdropping charm was still active, and so even from this distance, he heard his counterpart's words, whimpered through hiccupping breaths.

'_Please don't leave me, Albus. You won't leave me, will you?'_

A surge of anger at that feeble man flowed through him and he whispered _Finite _as quickly as he could manage to end the spell, doubling his pace away from the hospital wing.

And so he never saw Dumbledore pull Severus tightly into his arms, never heard the whispered reply, _'Never, Severus. Never,'_ and never saw the tears that trickled down Albus's beard.

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_**Author's Note: **_Thank you to all for your enthusiasm for this story and all your encouraging words (even those verging on death threats) that I post another chapter. I promise not to let so much time pass in the future. Life has been insane over these months.

I really hope you enjoyed the chapter. I await your comments, thoughts, etc with eagerness.

I'd also like to thank Snape's Nightie for jumping in at the last minute and betaing this for me. She did an awesome job! Hugs!

I can't wait to hear your thoughts on the chapter.


	13. Calling him back

**Title: **Unexpected Grace  
**Author:** Cocoa-Snape (aka CocoaSnape)  
**Disclaimer: **Harry Potter belongs exclusively to JKR…she is a goddess. I am making no money from this and I intend no copyright infringement.

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**Unexpected Grace  
**by **CocoaSnape**

**Chapter 13: Calling him back**

Still numb from his ordeal of the past hours, Snape stumbled down the corridor towards the Great Hall, his mind trying futilely to process all that he had just seen. As he neared the staff entrance at the back of the Hall, he could clearly hear the clamor within, the chorus of voices, the sound of dinnerware scraping against plates; dinner was obviously well underway. Stowing his cane out of sight, he grasped the handle of the door in his hand, but somehow, it refused to turn. Suddenly the numbness he had felt was morphing into a crushing anxiety, its weight growing unbearably hot in his chest. Albus was behind that door.

Snape had just used the time turner to skip forward three days to the evening of his N.E.W.T. review session, the time he was originally supposed to visit. He was due to attend dinner, which would serve the purpose of alerting Albus to his presence in this timeline. But the very thought of seeing Dumbledore now, after what he had just witnessed, was nearly too much to bear.

Of course he wouldn't be having a conversation with Albus – in fact, quite the opposite – he wasn't allowed to speak with him at all given the time turner's rules. And even though Albus wasn't privy to his adventures with the time turner over the past hours, the prospect of being in the same room again with the Headmaster provoked an unwelcome and overwhelming stream of emotions.

An even greater horror dawned on him at that moment; after he'd finished with his classes this week and had returned back to his normal time, Albus was expecting him for tea. The notion was almost preposterous to him now. The Headmaster would undoubtedly ask about his experience with the time turner, and Severus realized he'd be forced to do something he didn't want to, he'd have to lie to Albus. Because one thing Snape knew with unequivocal certainly was that he would never mention what he'd seen during those hours to Albus. Never. However much withholding the truth from Albus would pain him, it paled in comparison to the humiliation of being witness to his weaknesses, to his unprovoked confessions of that night.

The irony of this, Snape considered, was that Albus probably did not even understand the truth behind his most poignant admission. Snape couldn't be certain, but Albus had most likely designated those three important words to the realm of their longstanding friendship.

How easily his twisting, shaking body could mask the words as delusional or ill-considered or insignificant. But Snape had seen his counterpart's face as he'd said them. There was nothing delusional about the way they had been spoken – they were said in one of the rare true moments of lucidity his counterpart had experienced throughout the whole ordeal. And Severus knew that that man, that _he_, had wanted for Albus to truly understand the meaning of those words, to finally know the truth.

It had been obvious from the surrender he'd seen on the ill man's face at that moment. The surrender of emotion, the desire to completely open himself in a way he hadn't been able to some weeks before when Dumbledore had opened his mind to him. How Severus had longed to reciprocate then, how he had yearned to give himself over to those bright blue eyes, that piercing yet welcoming gaze. Memories of his reticence in that moment, his emotional retreat, still brought on profound feelings of regret.

Over the past several hours, Snape's hatred for that man lying in the infirmary bed had grown to almost epoch proportions. But a deeper part of him, a part he couldn't even acknowledge, was awed by that man. He'd done something _he_ couldn't. And even if it had been done in moment of weakness, it was something that Snape at his strongest couldn't imagine doing.

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Many minutes later, Snape had still not moved. Shaking himself from this introspection, he eyed the door handle in front of him once more.

He took several deep steadying breaths to try and clear his troubled mind. Reminding himself of his task in a series of simple commands seemed to make it easier – enter, sit, eat, speak as little as possible. Now that didn't seem so bad.

His thoughts turned once again to Albus and Minerva who at any moment would see him. They believed him to be in the hospital wing at this very moment, lying in a coma. The last thing they would expect was for him to enter, apparently uninjured. When he'd asked about this 'little' detail, Albus had assured him that it wasn't a cause of concern.

With mounting unease, Snape entered the Great Hall. The room was its usual noisy self, with faculty and students too engaged in their conversations to pay him much, if any, notice. He walked in measured steps, taking care to disguise his limp. The distance was a short one, but it seemed to take him forever to reach his chair.

Flitwick was the first to notice him, giving him a small smile. Hooch greeted him with her usual enthusiasm. "Good evening, Severus."

As soon as the words were spoken, Minerva turned her gaze sharply toward him. When their eyes met, Snape could see the color drain from her face, and she dropped the silver fork she'd been holding. It clattered to the ground, the ding of it on the stone floor seeming absurdly loud in that moment. Snape remained frozen, but not in anticipation for her reaction.

He could see that Albus had gone completely still in his chair, and when he looked up, Severus's eyes met that familiar bright blue gaze for a split second. Dumbledore's eyes closed almost instantly, and he heaved a deep, hiccupping sigh of relief. As Snape took his seat, as always next the Headmaster, they both avoided any further eye contact.

The moment seemed to stretch indefinitely and eventually Snape became aware of Albus resume his breathing with a gasping inhalation, making Snape wonder if he'd also been holding his breath this entire time. Dumbledore leaned over in the opposite direction and began to whisper something in the ear of his trembling deputy. Although he couldn't hear the words, Snape knew it to be an explanation, as he sensed Minerva beginning to calm.

Snape couldn't understand this. Dumbledore knew. How _this_ Dumbledore knew who he was, how he could know immediately that this wasn't the same Severus in the hospital wing was mind-boggling. Somehow, Albus was aware of the alternate timeline, although how that was possible was beyond Severus's imagination.

The 15 minutes Snape sat silently at the Head Table felt like the longest of his life. Albus's presence was forcing the memory of what he had been witnessing for the past several hours to intrude into the forefront of his mind. He hadn't eaten in as many hours, but despite his attempts, his gut protested the idea of eating. He spent most of the time moving his potatoes from one side of the plate to the other, and found he was inexplicably grateful for the silence that the time turner mandated.

Snape didn't have to worry about the rest of the faculty engaging him in conversation. Other than Hooch, most of them knew better than to interrupt him when he was in such a quiet mood. For her part, Minerva spent the entire time casting furtive glances at him, as if to convince herself that he was real.

Although he did not dare to look to his right for fear of meeting Dumbledore's gaze once more, Snape's attention was still intently focused on man sitting next to him. Studying Albus's hands through his peripheral vision, Snape realized how much of his emotions the Headmaster betrayed through them. At the minutes passed, Dumbledore's relief seemed to dispel as well. His hands began to fidget as they often did when he was confused, and then he steepled his fingers together which without fail indicated that he was deep in thought, trying to work out some complex problem.

When Dumbledore's concentrated pensiveness persisted, Snape wondered if this had anything to do with his appearance. When he'd first entered the hall, Dumbledore had seemed to immediately understand his presence, barely pausing before explaining it to McGonagall. Snape couldn't imagine what the sudden shift in the Headmaster's attitude might mean.

Knowing he'd done more than enough to alert Albus to his presence, Snape discretely exited the Great Hall without a word and headed to his Potions N.E.W.T. review session.

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There was much to be said for the palliative effects of lecturing about potions for two hours. The tension had held Snape's body captive over the better part of the day faded as he answered his seventh year's questions about their upcoming exam. By the end of the session, Snape felt almost human again.

In the absence of the anxiety that had long been controlling his person, he felt exhausted and decided to catch some sleep before he used the time turner to skip forward to attend his week of upcoming classes. On the way to his dungeon quarters, however, Snape was stopped mid-step by a furtive conversation taking place in the corridor.

Pomfrey and McGonagall may have been whispering, but Snape could hear them well enough to make out of the words.

"…I've tried talking to him of course," McGonagall was saying, "but you know Albus, he won't listen to me. Perhaps if you spoke with him."

"I've tried, Minerva, believe me."

"He should get a decent night's rest. He has business in London early tomorrow morning."

"I know. He's made me promise to send Fawkes if Severus's condition changes."

"Well, I thought I'd come and offer to relieve him tonight. He must be exhausted."

"Good luck with that," Pomfrey countered. "I've stopped trying to convince him to take a break; he's very insistent about staying." Pomfrey's attitude grew somber then, her expression and voice suddenly becoming serious. "I think perhaps…" Pomfrey began, hesitating slightly, "you shouldn't press Albus about leaving Severus tonight."

"Why?"

Pomfrey sighed deeply, her expression grave.

McGonagall's eyes went wide with shock. "Poppy, you don't mean…?"

Pomfrey made a visible effort to speak, but failed. She simply shook her head.

"Come on. We shouldn't be discussing this here," McGonagall said, her voice unreadable as she directed Poppy in the direction of the hospital wing.

Snape was stunned by what he was overhearing. Poppy's attitude seemed to suggest that she didn't expect him to recover. But that made no sense. He would be waking up sometime early tomorrow morning, when Albus was in London. Perhaps Poppy was over exaggerating his condition, but her despondent manner suggested otherwise.

Despite the reward his earlier curiosity had earned him, Snape decided to follow the two women. Before he entered the hospital wing, he once again retrieved his invisibility potion from within his robes. With just about one drop left, Snape finished the remainder of the vial.

As he entered Poppy's office, he could hear that the two women were already deep in conversation.

"I've never seen a coma from Cruciatus overdose last three days with a positive outcome," Pomfrey explained gravely.

"But… but this can't be right. Albus was so sure Severus was going to recover." The reason for McGonagall's confusion suddenly became evident to Snape. She'd just seen him not two hours ago in the Great Hall. Albus must have explained what that meant. Yet Poppy was telling her that he was on the verge of death.

"How confident are you, Poppy?" she pressed. "Are you sure?"

"Unfortunately yes. His breathing is becoming more shallow and labored by the hour, and his voluntary movements, pain response and reflexes are now completely nonexistent. Theses are all signs that his coma has deepened beyond recovery."

Snape was reeling in the face of this information. He was supposed to die? This was at once both startling and strange. It had to be a misdiagnosis on Pomfrey's part, although that didn't have the ring of truth to him. Although Snape had repeatedly questioned Poppy during his recovery, he had to concede that despite her rather sentimental approach to healing, she was an exceptionally qualified medi-witch.

McGonagall was clearly warring with these conflicting pieces of information. "Albus is going to be devastated. He thinks…" she paused, clearly uncertain about what she could reveal to Poppy. "Just this evening he was so confident that Severus was going to pull through."

"I wish it were so," Poppy said grimly. "I've contacted the premier experts on Cruciatus overdose at St. Mungo's. They all concur. Barring some sort of miracle, Minerva, he's going to pass."

McGonagall's eyes were rapidly filling with tears as she processed and began to accept the information Poppy was relaying to her. Snape was half-tempted to reveal himself and scream, _'I'm fine, see. I'm going to wake up tomorrow.'_

"Have you shared this with Albus?" McGonagall asked carefully.

"About twenty minutes ago," Poppy replied. "He's with Severus now."

For her part, Poppy Pomfrey couldn't help but remember the look on the Headmaster's face when she'd given him the news. At first, he's been completely disbelieving of her words. He'd spent many minutes trying to convince her that she had to be mistaken, that she must have been overlooking some sign of recovery on Severus's person. But as she presented her case about Severus's deteriorating condition, the range of emotion on the Headmaster's face was something she was quite certain no one had ever seen before.

"Poppy," he'd managed in a shaky voice, his expression inconsolable, "are you _absolutely_ sure?"

"I'm so sorry, Headmaster," she'd said, unable to finish the remainder of her thought. _'It won't be long now.'_ But the words hung on her breath, and Dumbledore heard them.

The silence that had stretched between them was unbearable.

Only when Dumbledore was sure that he could speak, he had said, "Thank you, Poppy, for everything you've done for him." And with that, he had withdrawn to Severus's private room.

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Snape followed Minerva McGonagall as she made her way toward the private ward where his other self resided. She stopped deliberately before the closed door and took a deep breath, steeling herself for what would most certainly be a difficult and emotional conversation with the Headmaster. She knocked and entered without waiting for a reply, leaving the door ajar such that Severus could see within.

Snape's shock at what he saw was mirrored in McGonagall's face. Dumbledore had drawn his wand (a rare enough sight at it was), and was pointing it directly at the immobile figure in the bed!

"Albus! What in Merlin's name are you doing?"

Dumbledore turned to her and the devastation on his face was unmistakable. "I have to, Minerva." Dumbledore lowered his wand, and continued in a trembling voice, "He should be getting better by now, but Poppy said he's… taken a turn for the worst." Dumbledore paused, straining to regain his composure. "But just now at dinner, he looked at me, and I knew."

Snape was as confused as McGonagall professed herself to be. "Severus, from the time turner, looked at you," she repeated. "I don't understand. Did he say something to you?"

"No."

"You can't possibly have some sense of the alternate timeline, Albus?" Her words were spoken as a half statement, a half incredulous question.

"I can't explain it. I just know I have to do something. I know I have to at least try."

Snape was listening intently, carefully measuring each word.

"Do what exactly?" McGonagall asked, clearly stunned by Dumbledore's words and confused by his intentions. "Do you even know what you're doing, Albus?"

"Honestly, no… but I imagine I'll muddle through."

McGonagall did not relent. Whether her concerns were for Dumbledore or for the infirmed man lying on the bed, Snape did not know. "How do you know Severus won't heal on his own? How do you know you won't be making things worse?"

Dumbledore shook his head fervently. "No. Poppy was quite clear that she believed Severus wouldn't make it through the night," these last words said in a shaky whisper. "I _know_ Severus," Dumbledore said through a shaky breath. "And I know he's giving up… he's letting go."

"Albus―"

"I've got to bring him back to me, Minerva!" Dumbledore exclaimed, his voice thick with emotion. "I've got to try and reach him. I've got to tell him to keep fighting."

Snape felt something drop inside him then. The once jumbled pieces were assembling with rapid clarity.

As Dumbledore raised his wand once more and whispered the _Legilimens_ incantation, Snape nearly collapsed to the ground with the force of the epiphany.

That voice! The voice he had heard so distinctly inside his head as he lay in a coma. He was so certain it had been nothing but a delusion, nothing but misfiring neurotransmitters in his brain, or perhaps his subconscious, too stubborn to pass over to the other side. But it had been Albus all along.

Overwhelmed by this sudden knowledge, Snape's heart was pounding painfully in his chest.The memory of that voice inside his mind surfaced with stunning clarity.

It wasn't so much a voice, Snape remembered, rather than a feeling that had spread throughout his mind, unrelenting in its force. Penetrating the darkness he was trapped in, enrapturing him in a unique warmth, tantalizing him with its power, pleading with him to heal, coaxing him to awaken.

He could not have resisted it; the inexplicable urge to succumb to it was too compelling to ignore. But more than that, he would have followed that voice anywhere. And he had. He had woken up from his coma the following morning.

Snape fought to steady himself in the face of this profound revelation, even as it seemed the very ground he walked on was being wrenched out from under him.

Albus had been right – he had given up, had been on the verge of letting go. But out of nowhere had come another chance, that voice giving him the will to live. Albus had saved him yet again.

He should have known long ago whom it belonged to. The moment Albus had opened his mind to him that day in his office during his recovery, the feeling had been so inexplicably familiar. Now he knew why. He'd felt Albus's mind once before, here, although he had no conscious memory of the event. But that feeling – that tranquil contentment – was the same he'd experienced once before.

Erased now was any doubt as to why he had obeyed it without question, why he had followed that voice guiding him out of the darkness, leading him back to life. Calling him back… to Albus.

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_Author's note:_ Thank you to everyone for your reviews of the last chapter. I am so pleased at the response despite my having been away so long. When it comes to this story, I can't tell you how much your reviews mean to me.

As for this chapter, I hope it comes as much as a pleasant/interesting surprise to you all as it does to Severus. In case you are interested, the section where Severus wars with this intruding voice in his mind can be found in the first section of Chapter 7. The clues that this is Albus speaking to him are subtle.

Also, just wanted to update everyone about my snarry, In Memory's Wake. I mention it here because it contains a great deal of Dumbledore-Snape interaction (although paternal friendship in nature) and will contain significant chapters where Dumbledore acts as Snape's therapist. The more I write that story, the more I've realized how much I want it to revolve around their relationship (surprise surprise!) so I thought I'd let you all know if case you are interested.

Thank you everyone for reading and I look forward to your comments as always.


	14. Deluge

**Title: **Unexpected Grace  
**Author:** Cocoa-Snape (aka CocoaSnape)  
**Disclaimer: **Harry Potter belongs exclusively to JKR…she is a goddess. I am making no money from this and I intend no copyright infringement.

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_Summary of what's been happening between our two favorite characters:_

Snape used a time-turner given to him by Albus to go back and teach the week he missed while he was in the hospital wing recovering from his ordeal with Voldemort. Unbeknownst to Albus, he makes a detour and goes back to see himself after he returns from Voldemort's torture. He is shocked by the horrible shape he was in but much more by the way Albus cared for him, not to mention the fact that in his delirium, Snape confessed his love for Albus.

After attending dinner in the great hall, where Albus and Minerva see time-turner Severus for the first time, Snape follows the pair. There he sees Dumbledore preparing to enter his infirmed counterpart's mind to awaken him from his coma. Snape reels (and is still reeling) from the realization that it was Dumbledore who saved him from death.

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**Unexpected Grace  
**by **CocoaSnape**

**Chapter ****14: Deluge**

The rain seems an entity unto itself this eve. It pours down in torrents, sheeting down the nearby rock-faces, the runoff streaming down the grassy slopes towards the main gate. There, where the ground has absorbed its limit and is beginning to flood, sits a dark figure. The rain has long soaked through his thick dark robes, leaving them caked in mud. His head is arched back, propped against the metal bars of the wrought iron gate. He stares challengingly at the force attacking him, the rain pounding against his face, plastering his dark hair against his pale skin.

His efforts to stand have all been for naught, and he abandons any further attempts as his legs are too weak to comply. As it is, he prefers to remain exactly where he sits, his mind strangely comforted by the fierce deluge attacking him, even as his body begins to rebel against the cold. He wonders morbidly how long he could remain in this spot before catching his death or before the elements began consuming his flesh.

The obscenely late hour guarantees he will not be disturbed by any passersby, although even if it were daylight he doubts anyone would have the gall to approach him in his current state. He is a frightful sight. His temperament is no better.

He's lost complete track of time, unaware of how long he has been lying here. Ten minutes? Thirty? Possibly longer, he thinks, judging by how deeply the cold has penetrated his bones.

Reluctantly, and with much effort, he grasps the wand in his pocket, and whispers an incantation. A moment later, he speaks the accompanying message.

His duty done, he considers getting up once more, but ultimately decides against it. Perhaps he'll stay here a while longer. Maybe, if he stays long enough, the cold will numb his pain the way it has numbed the rest of him.

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_**3 days earlier:**_

Severus Snape was momentarily distracted by the sound of something coming through his Floo. It took him a couple of seconds to find his place and resume his reading. In the periphery of his vision, he could see an envelope floating towards his desk. He knew exactly whom it was from.

Last night, Albus had issued him just such an invitation for tea, but he'd managed to provide a plausible reason for his inability to attend. No doubt Albus was sending him another invitation for this evening. The idea of having to produce a new excuse was not an appealing one, but Snape knew he'd have to offer up something. Ever since his adventure with the Time Turner, he found himself feeling profoundly uncomfortable in Albus's presence – both from remembering what he'd seen and from having to hide the fact that he'd ever seen it in the first place.

Closing his book, he stood and walked towards his desk. His eyes narrowed at the envelope lying there. Not the familiar red that marked Albus's style. Instead, the red that had caught his eye was the wax sealing the white envelope. He recognized the crest on the seal embedded in the wax immediately.

"Damn it," Snape muttered under his breath as he tore open the envelope and read its contents.

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Dumbledore was beside himself with worry. The past three days had brought him little peace and even less sleep. When he'd received the note from Severus three nights ago indicating that he was leaving on 'business,' Dumbledore had not expected such a long absence.

There had been a time when Severus would be gone for days at a time and Dumbledore was none of the wiser concerning his whereabouts. But that was many years ago, and although the circumstances were similar, nothing about this was the same. Dumbledore stared blankly at the walls of his study, the staccato sounds of the rain pounding against the window behind him, as he berated himself for the millionth time for ever allowing Severus to return to that monster.

After Severus had recovered from his ordeal with Voldemort, Dumbledore had been adamant that the risks of Severus spying for the Order were too great. But Severus would hear none of it, steadfastly insisting that he was determined to bring about Voldemort's downfall. All of his efforts to get Severus to discuss the emotional impact of what he'd suffered had been sharply rebuffed.

And to Dumbledore's dismay, the trauma Severus suffered had, if anything, served only to embolden him, cementing in his mind that his return was critical to the Order, that his torture had been a test of his true allegiance. And Severus had apparently been right about that, as he was already being trusted with key information about Voldemort's plans. Dumbledore shuddered to think it, but Severus had been Voldemort's favorite in the old days, and it seemed that he was in a position to be again.

It should have been a blessing. Severus poised to be Voldemort's right hand, privy to every detail of his intent. But so often, the goals of the many do not coincide with those of the individual. Whereas the Order craved Severus's success in reestablishing these old ties with Voldemort, Dumbledore could only grieve it. He already recognized the warning signs he had seen in Severus so many years ago when he had first begun his work as a spy. And in a matter of just two meetings with Voldemort, Severus was already creating distance between them. Whether it was hiding behind that impassive countenance whenever Albus tried to engage him in conversation, or rejecting his latest invitation to tea. But Dumbledore would gladly trade every tea date from now on if it meant Severus's safe return.

A moment later, Dumbledore felt a thread of magic in his periphery and turned around sharply just as the silvery wisps that had slivered under the door reassembled into the familiar shape of Severus's Patronus. It spoke its brief message, 'Back. Fine. Be up later,' and then disappeared.

Dumbledore exhaled the breath he didn't know he was holding and immediately wondered, _'Back?'_ That was strange. He hadn't sensed Severus enter his dungeons quarters or even the castle for that matter. He'd been watching them intently for any sign of the younger wizard's return. Training his gaze outside through the ornate window of his sitting room, Dumbledore used his spectacles to scan the furthest distance of the grounds. There he spotted a dark figure sitting at the front gates.

Wondering what on earth Severus could possibly be doing out there, Dumbledore rushed out the door of his quarters, down his revolving staircase, along the long hall corridor and finally through the main doors. He cast an _Impervious_ charm as he stepped outside, creating an impenetrable barrier that kept out the wind and the water, the rain hitting an the invisible shield over the top of his head, cascading down around him, leaving everything but the soles of his shoes bone dry.

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Snape's ire had been matched only by his dread the moment he'd read that damn invitation. A revel of all things! Apparently 13 years away from their perverse social gatherings was excuse enough to have another.

Attendance was optional of course, but he wasn't naïve enough to think that his was anything but compulsory. He pretended to be amused by their cruelty and their sadistic humor, half-astounded they didn't sense his repulsion and disdain. This wasn't what he had signed up for; it never had been, not even 18 years ago when he'd first joined the Dark Lord's cause. He had been motivated by a misguided sense of power and ambition, his mind tainted with confusion and resentment. Not once had the enjoyment of another's suffering been something he desired.

So when he'd finally returned to Hogwarts this evening, he felt inexplicably dirty. The rain had started almost the same moment he'd Apparated back to Hogsmeade. It must have been fate, Snape considered. Moved by that notion, he'd settled down just inside the gates, hoping that the rain would do its duty and wash away some of the filth before he went up to see Albus. He could still feel the memory of the past three days on his skin – almost like a perceivable stench. He wondered morosely if Albus would detect it as well.

When he first Apparated back, he'd briefly considered punishing Albus by not announcing his return, but ultimately he subdued his frustration enough so that it did not cloud his better judgment. By now, Snape considered, Albus must have received his message, sent through his Patronus. He hoped that Albus wouldn't seek him out here; he didn't think he could stand the awkwardness of such an encounter. After returning from the revel, he'd felt the need to take his time before reporting to the Headmaster's quarters – time to breathe, to focus, to strengthen his walls. He couldn't risk Albus seeing the truth; he couldn't bear to see pity in Albus's eyes, or worse... the disappointment.

Unbidden, the mental images of those weeks spent with Albus while he was in the hospital wing flashed before him. How natural it had been to be around Albus then – the undemanding ease of their conversations, the pleasant sound of Albus's laughter, the energy of their intellectual discussions, the hilarity of Albus's tall tales, and the comfortable effortlessness of their silences. It'd been like a dream. But now he'd woken up. Damn Albus for showing him that. For showing him that his life could be any different.

The past week had been a difficult one for Snape – nights of fitful sleep as he tried to come to terms with all that he'd seen on his Time Turner journey. Snape realized that if he hadn't already before, Albus certainly knew him now, every inch of him. Knew him emotionally through his own wretched forthrightness when he'd confessed his fears and weaknesses. And too physically, Snape remembered, as Albus had held him, through his convulsions and sickness. And that was perhaps the worst of it – that he'd have to hide from the one person who knew him best. But how could he not after what happened? Albus had done everything in his power to ease his recovery in those horrible hours after his return from the Dark Lord, and when nothing had worked, and it seemed that all hope was lost, he'd done the impossible by entering his mind and pulling him back to life. Albus had saved him, yet again.

The main doors of the castle opened then, and in the periphery of his vision Snape could discern the light of the hall escaping into the darkness and a tall figure moving toward him. Snape huffed out loud, the sound emanating from his throat miserable and pained. Why on earth was he coming out here?

Strange how emotions can play out in one's mind. How Snape's overwhelming gratitude to Albus, the crushing weight of those memories and emotions – shame, terror, indebtedness – how they so easily morphed into anger.

As Snape studied the man moving toward him, it occurred to him that it was the only time he'd ever seen the Headmaster run. He felt the diagnostic charm hit him, and almost immediately thereafter Albus slowed his pace to a fast walk.

As Dumbledore approached Severus, stopping just a few feet away from him, he could practically feel the despondency of the man in front of him, if it were not already painfully evident from his wretched frame. His robes clung to his soaked form and his clothing was covered in mud. Every second of silence that passed between only heightened Dumbledore's anxiety.

"Severus?"

Snape lifted his head from the back of the bars to study the man in front of him, but deliberately avoided his gaze. Dumbledore's _Impervious_ charm was shielding him perfectly from the elements, his robes remaining unsullied and as magnificent as always, leaving not a single hair out of place on his head. _'How appropriate,'_ Snape thought. Nothing ever seemed to touch him, not even now. He wanted to scream.

Snape wondered if Albus could see the storm raging inside him, the emotions brimming over the edges of his consciousness. He wondered if he was good enough to occlude even Albus's keen perception.

Disconcerted by Severus's troubled demeanor and his lack of response, Dumbledore asked softly. "Severus, are you alright?"

After a long moment Snape answered mechanically, "I'm sure your diagnostic charm already answered that for you." A pause and then he added, "I didn't mean for you to come out here, Headmaster."

Dumbledore frowned slightly at the formality and the tone of Severus's words. "Apparently, you are going to force me to ask the obvious, Severus. What are you doing?"

"Sitting," Snape replied flatly.

Dumbledore's concern trumped his exasperation at that remark.

"Severus, you're trembling. Let me…" he said, reaching for his wand to cast _Impervious_ and warming charms.

Knowing what Dumbledore was about to do, Snape spoke sharply, his voice urgent and strong despite his weakened state. "No! Please… I want to feel the rain."

Reluctantly, Dumbledore complied.

The silence that followed stretched for several long minutes between them. Dumbledore was on the verge of ignoring Severus's request and ready to cast a warming spell when Severus finally spoke.

"I barely saw him. He made brief appearance, for morale I suppose."

Dumbledore ignored the report, his attention on more pressing matters. "Severus, please… are you alright?"

Snape snorted. "I have no injuries if that's what's your asking."

The cynicism in his tone was unmistakable. If he hadn't been certain of it before, Dumbledore knew that Severus was not doing well at all.

"It was a revel," Snape continued, determined to report this information so that he never need speak of it again. "The Death Eaters do love their soiree you know. And since the Dark Lord has ordered them all to lie low, they have to entertain themselves privately. Needless to say, it was not my idea of fun."

Severus was being sarcastic and dismissive, and Dumbledore knew he was holding back, doing his best to bury the emotions surrounding what had occurred over the past three days. Dumbledore was determined to try and assuage whatever misplaced guilt Severus was feeling.

"Severus, I'm sorry that you had to go there. But whatever happened… it wasn't your fault."

Dumbledore's voice, his words, caused something to stir inside him. Snape could clearly read its intent – to soothe, to remove his burden. Just as it had done many times before, Snape thought. Just as it had done in the hospital wing, when he lay broken and pathethic. Is that how Albus saw him now?

Where once he had felt shame, now he felt only rage, hot and blinding. Rage at Albus for having been there. For having seen that part of him he hated. Part of him he didn't even know existed. For witnessing the magnitude of his weakness. And for saving him, yet again.

"Spare me your platitudes, Headmaster!" Snape spat savagely. He wanted to be crude, to lash out and hurt Albus as much as possible in this moment, and he let the words surge out of him, fed by the safe emotion of anger. "I'm so fucking tired of hearing them."

Dumbledore startled, unaccustomed to Severus's scathing words, but far more by the glaring resentment in Severus's voice. Although it stung, Dumbledore knew that he deserved it.

Snape's wish to inflict pain was quickly reversed when he saw the look in Albus's eyes, and he attempted an apology. "I'm sorry, Headmaster, that was uncalled for."

"There is no need to apologize, Severus," Dumbledore replied sincerely. "You need not ever censor your thoughts from me. In fact," he continued significantly, "I quite prefer it for us to be open and honest with one another."

Snape stiffened sharply at the meaning he derived and retorted heatedly, "I don't make it a habit of lying to you, Headmaster."

"I never said that you did. I made no such accusation, Severus. I simply meant that you hide too much. But I believe we've already exhausted that topic to death," Dumbledore said, now his turn to sound despondent and exhausted. "I won't belabor it anymore."

Snape said nothing to that, and let the silence fall between them once more, partially out of anger, but mostly because he was determined to delay telling Albus where exactly he'd been for the past three days. After a long minute, Snape relented, acknowledging the fact that he'd have to do it eventually and what better place, after all, than in this rain, which had not even slightly diminished in its intensity. Perhaps it would wash away some of the filth.

"I had to go," Snape began, his voice suddenly strained and tentative. He cursed himself for the weakness it betrayed. "I… had a personal invitation. It would have been suspicious had I refused it."

_A personal invitation?_ Dumbledore considered the words carefully, suspecting all too well what that meant, but not wanting to ask directly. Instead, he simply asked, "Where was this revel?"

A beat before Severus took a deep breath and answered reluctantly, "Malfoy Manor. Lucius does love to put on a show."

_Lucius!_ Dumbledore felt something clench inside his gut at the sound of that name on Severus's lips. He struggled to mask his ire, doing his best to not let his expression betray his emotions.

Snape felt the sudden urge to tell Albus that this wasn't like it had been before. That engaging in a little tête-à-tête with Lucius Malfoy was beyond even his limits when it came to playing the loyal Death Eater. But he found he was unable to speak; his throat tightened when he saw the way Albus was studying him.

So Severus had spent the last three days on Lucius's invitation? The very thought caused Dumbledore's blood pressure to skyrocket. It was no secret to him that that two had had a 'thing' in the old days. Severus had been 17, convinced he was in love with Malfoy and that those feelings were reciprocated. And the elder Malfoy had used it to his advantage, introducing him to a most unscrupulous circle of friends, and ultimately to Voldemort who was not coincidentally seeking a Potions virtuoso to join his cause.

Besides whatever other horrors had gone on at this revel, Dumbledore knew that Malfoy's presence had at the very least made the past few days highly uncomfortable ones for Severus. Dumbledore knew Malfoy well enough, knew he was as manipulative and as brazen as they came. He wouldn't have been surprised if this entire revel had been designed with Severus in mind. It enraged him to know that Malfoy had put Severus in such a situation. But for his part, Dumbledore also he felt guilty that Severus had had to attend for the Order, and most likely had to rebuff Malfoy's advances with polite delicacy for three days running.

Of course Dumbledore knew that Severus would not go back to Lucius for anything – he did not doubt that for a moment. But just knowing that Malfoy had issued the invitation, just the idea of the two had been in such close proximity released in Dumbledore a depth of feeling he'd never quite experienced before, his eyes charged with an intense possessiveness for the man in front of him.

Snape could see it in Albus's eyes – he was wondering about Lucius. A surge of anger bloomed in his chest. _What did he think?!_ Snape thought in a fit of rage. That he'd attended this revel just for the chance to see Lucius again? That he actually _welcomed_ Lucius's pathetically veiled advances? That he fell to his knees far too easily? Any urge to tell Albus that it had been nothing like that died in that moment. How could Albus think so little of him? _Let him think it_, Snape thought furiously. _Damn him to hell for thinking it!_

Severus swore a silent promise right then and there that he would not tell Albus. Not if Albus could believe such a thing of him.

And perhaps in the long run, Snape considered, things would be better this way. Let Albus think the very worst of him. Maybe then Albus wouldn't feel beholden to look after him time and time again. Maybe then Albus would finally be free to end their friendship if he so desired. Snape's chest grew heavy at the very thought. But perhaps it would be a blessing in disguise, easing him from his burden of constant inadequacy. Perhaps in time, Snape thought, he might even welcome Albus's disgust.

The silence between them on the matter of where the revel had been had grown long and uncomfortable, each man lost in his own opposing thoughts. Dumbledore had no knowledge of what had gone on over the past three days. Whether it was being near Malfoy that had Severus so visibly disturbed, or just the events of the revel, Dumbledore hoped to convey that he knew that whatever had happened was out of Severus's control.

"Severus, I don't know what happened, but—"

"Please," Snape snapped, "don't say another bloody word about it!" He couldn't bear for Dumbledore to ask, even obliquely what had happened between him and Lucius. And he refused to offer up the answer on a silver platter either. Never.

The rain had still not let up. Dumbledore's charm was holding steady, keeping him perfectly dry. Even so, he felt chilled. It didn't take his genius to read Severus's manner and realize that in this moment even a warming charm would be rebuffed. So despite his concern, Dumbledore made no move to cast either a drying or warming charm on the man sitting in a puddle of mud at his feet.

Severus's eyes were closed, as if he were in pain. Knowing there was nothing physically wrong with him, Dumbledore wondered if perhaps he'd made this entire situation worse by coming out here tonight. With uncharacteristic hesitancy in his voice, he asked slowly, "Do you want me to leave you alone, Severus?"

Snape pressed his head back against the bars, feeling the bite of the metal edges against his skull. The pain was steadying, grounding him in a way he couldn't explain. "Do what you want," Snape bit out harshly.

The briefest feeling of triumph passed over Dumbledore at that. Anyone else would surely have taken that irate reply as a rude send-off. But Dumbledore knew better, and it relieved him in a way he could not fully express. Severus never had any qualms about telling him to get lost, particularly when his mood was this disturbed. The fact that he'd left the decision up to him was not lost on the elder wizard, and he felt sure then that Severus was testing his resolve, testing how much more of this he would endure before he gave up on him and left.

"Severus, it's dreadful out here. Please come inside with me."

Snape glared at Dumbledore in reply. He had no wish to go inside.

"Severus, I know you're angry with me; you have every right to be, but sitting here—"

"I'm not angry with you," Snape interjected irately. That was a lie – his voice betrayed it – but in truth, he wasn't angry with Dumbledore in the way he thought he was. "I've no reason to be angry with you," Snape whispered under his breath, his voice suddenly despondent.

Dumbledore studied his friend for a long moment, trying to deduce what was going on inside his head. "I hope, my boy, you're not blaming yourself for things that are out of your control."

The reply was swift. "I'm your spy for a reason, Albus."

Dumbledore knew what Severus meant, at once understood his friend's tormented thoughts – he had once chosen to become a Death Eater. It saddened him that Severus had yet to forgive himself for that decision, especially after all the good he'd done. "You deserve forgiveness, my boy." At Severus's sharp glance, Dumbledore amended, "Not from me, Severus. You had mine long ago."

Snape's expression relaxed slightly, but he said nothing.

Dumbledore did not relent. "It's long past the time for you to forgive yourself."

Snape snorted loudly, his voice mocking, "And what the hell would you know about that?"

"I know plenty, Severus. Do you really think I have done nothing shameful in my life, nothing that could make me understand the torture you're putting yourself through right now?" Dumbledore asked pointedly.

Snape eyed his friend skeptically.

"It would be quite an assumption to think I've never known regret or shame. Then again," Dumbledore added pensively, "I suppose that it is my fault that I've never shared it with you, especially since I've asked you to do the same. But believe me when I tell you that I have had much to atone for… as much, if not more, than you have, my boy," Dumbledore said, his voice serious and sincere.

"I understand your position, Severus. The last thing I wanted was to share the extent of my guilt and disgrace with others. You probably consider it hypocritical of me then to demand it of you as I have, but I haven't wanted you to fall into that same trap of denial, inner turmoil, and self-loathing. And so I've tried to encourage to you speak only because I know not from theory but from practical experience that if you don't let this out, if you don't exorcise these demons after each meeting, it will slowly eat you up inside."

Dumbledore took a deep breath and finished significantly, "And I promise, when we are in a more suitable setting, I will do the same. Although no doubt you'll think it another of my tall tales."

Severus met his gaze then and Dumbledore could see that not only did Severus believe him, he also had correctly deduced the events to which he was referring. Progress then perhaps. He could read Severus's emotions – tentative curiosity, uncertainty, and intense surprise that he would be willing to share this most personal part of his past with him, the one thing he'd never spoken of before, with anyone.

"But for now, it's rather late, my boy, and no doubt you are chilled to the bone. Please come inside with me."

When Snape did not reply, nor did he move, Dumbledore began to wonder if he'd made a mistake in his initial assessment of Severus secretly yearning his company. He had felt sure that Severus did not want to be alone, and yet he remained completely intractable and silent, even after he'd broached the touchy subject of his past. Dumbledore could see that by now Severus was shivering from the cold, and he was at a loss of what to do. He considered his options and wondered if he'd ultimately have to sedate Severus to get him safely away from the elements.

Snape could feel Dumbledore watching him intently, trying to discern his emotions. His body had cheered at Albus's suggestion of warmth, but he would not give into it. He could not. Albus was no doubt disgusted with him – for staying at Malfoy Manor, for doing things he hadn't even done. And at this moment, he could bear neither Albus's questions nor his silence. The fact that Albus refused to leave only enraged him further. Even through his disgust Albus would not leave him here. How like Albus, how noble of him not to neglect his responsibility. Snape was determined to release him from this misplaced sense of obligation.

"Headmaster," Snape intoned bluntly, deliberately using the formal address, "in case I haven't made this clear enough to you, I have no information for you or the Order. But if you so require, I will come and see you in the morning." His tone brokered no ambiguity, and his voice was raised to almost a shout to ensure it was heard over the rain and the occasional gusts of wind. "Now," Snape continued, spitting the last of his words with undisguised vehemence, "do you think you could manage just this once to do as I ask, and _leave me alone_?"

Dumbledore did not hesitate in his reply. "I think not. Sitting here in this downpour is doing you no good. I will not let you wallow in self-hatred, especially when that hatred is sorely misdirected."

Silence.

"Fine," Dumbledore continued, "I shall wait with you until you are ready to leave." Dumbledore spotted a gleam of defiance in Severus's eyes then. It was a relief to see that his strong Severus was still in there. Although Severus did not speak, Dumbledore could clearly read the words through Severus's features, through his quirked eyebrow and in the stubbornness of his clenched jaw. _'I can stay here for hours.'_

Dumbledore did not doubt it for a moment. And in that moment, his uncertainty faded, and he knew precisely what to do.

Barely a second later, Dumbledore undid his umbrella charm and without preamble plopped down in the mud, so that he sat adjacent to his friend.

For his part, Snape could not help but turn his head fully and stare with eyes wide, his mouth open in shock. In a matter of seconds, he watched as the always impeccably dressed Dumbledore became drenched from head to toe. Snape's own dark robes hid the effects, but there was no concealing the results as Dumbledore's brilliant ivory silk robes became stained and soon thoroughly covered in mud, every inch of the once pristine cloth now sullied.

Barely able to control his shock, Snape managed to ask in astonishment, "Have you lost your mind?"

"Perhaps," Dumbledore replied with sudden joviality, a strange smile on his face. "Perhaps we shall both catch our death tonight."

Snape was stunned. Why was Albus doing this? And how was it that when he thought he had the situation in hand, Albus always managed to throw him for a loop? The defiant anger he'd felt only a moment ago receded, replaced with a pressure in his chest that made him feel that he might dissolve into tears at any moment.

Albus had joined him. He had gotten down to his level, in the dank mud and exposed himself to the deluge of rain and wind. It was completely unexpected. Nothing Albus could have said would have had such an impact. Perhaps he'd known that. He'd watched as he wallowed in pain and emotional anguish, torturing both his mind and body.

Albus had saved him many times – from the Dark Lord… from the Aurors… from Azkaban, and from death just weeks before. And now here he was, attempting to save him from himself.

He didn't deserve it. More than that, Snape was resolved to handle this on his own. He'd known it back in that first horrifying moment his mark had started to darken on his arm that he'd have to distance himself from Albus. He'd long dreaded the prospect, resigning himself to a relationship where their conversations were devoid of warmth and whimsy, replaced instead with impersonal and dispassionate reporting of Order business. But ultimately he knew it would be necessary, not only to maintain his facade of indifference towards Albus, but also to hide things from the man he could not bear to share, the horrors he'd see at meetings or revels such as the one he'd just attended.

However hard it would be, he had to face these things without Albus. This was his burden to bear. His and his alone.

"No, my boy," came the devastatingly gentle voice from Dumbledore, "you may have to go alone to him, you may have to perform this duty one your own, and I cannot express my sorrow that I cannot do more for you, that I cannot be there by your side. But you are_ not_ alone in this, Severus," Dumbledore said, placing his hand on Severus's knee.

Snape was sure he'd stopped breathing the moment Albus started speaking, his voice filled with almost unbearably tender affection. Albus's grip on his knee tightened as the elder wizard reached over and placed his hand gently on his cheek, forcing eye contact between them before adding in earnest, "And if I need to sit here in the mud all night to remind you of that, then that's what I shall do."

Albus's gaze was piercing, painful, and caused a hitch in Severus's breathing. He tore his eyes away, unable to stand its unwavering intensity, Albus's words evoking an enormity of raw emotion inside him. He wasn't sure he could handle another moment of kindness from this man, each one opening a new wound in his heart, a reminder of all that he could never repay.

As the long silent seconds passed, Albus's words were ringing in Snape's ears and he could feel Albus silently watching him. It took less than a minute more of that kind patient gaze from Dumbledore to melt all his remaining resolve. As he moved to stand, Dumbledore helped him to his feet.

Once they made it to the entrance and stepped inside the main doors, Dumbledore instantly cleaned and dried them both off. How easily Albus could dispel the filth; if only he could so easily remove the stench of his memory Snape thought to himself. Harsh laughter burst from Snape in the next moment, rough and hysterical. Anyone else would have most certainly thought him mad in that moment, but Dumbledore said nothing, almost as though he knew exactly what he was thinking.

Neither man said a word on their long walk down to the dungeons. And before long, Snape found himself face to face with the entrance to his quarters, his back to Dumbledore who was standing behind him. He felt a cold shiver pass through him and then, just as suddenly, a warming spell – one of Albus's. Another kindness! Where five minutes ago it might have enraged him, at this moment, it did precisely the opposite. He could feel the ache leaving his cold bones and he suddenly felt so relaxed and sleepy; he half-wondered if Albus had sedated him as well.

Albus was too kind to him. He'd withstood his crude comments, had taken his anger without reproach, had done his best to try and comfort him, and when he'd realized that no words could do that, he'd joined him down in the mud. And all of this despite knowing that he had been in Malfoy's company, despite thinking that he had…

Suddenly the thing he told himself he would never say came spilling out of him in a desperate urge to set the record straight about what had happened with Malfoy. To make Albus understand that he had no desire to… that he could never… that he _would _never…

"Albus, I didn't…" he began, but stopped abruptly as his breath left him, halting his ability to speak.

A moment later he felt Albus's hands rest atop both his shoulders from behind. Snape froze, reveling in the heavenly warmth radiating off Albus's touch. He was so glad he was facing away, because he didn't think he could disguise either the surprise or the ecstasy on his face.

Finding his voice once more, he tried again, "I didn't—" But this time Albus did not let him finish.

"I know, my boy. Of course I know," Dumbledore replied gently, his voice full of perceptive sincerity. "You need your rest now. Goodnight."

Severus took a long moment to steel his countenance before turning around. But when he did, Albus was already gone.

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_Author's note:_ I hope you enjoyed this chapter. I've been waiting a very long time to write this. To all my reviewers – thank you for sticking by me despite the delays. Your enthusiasm and support is appreciated.

Thank you very much to my beta for this chapter, Snape's Nightie, who is awesome!

I anxiously await your comments. xx


	15. Never the same

**Title: **Unexpected Grace  
**Author:** Cocoa-Snape (aka CocoaSnape)  
**Disclaimer: **Harry Potter belongs exclusively to JKR…she is a goddess. I am making no money from this and I intend no copyright infringement.

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_Summary of what's been happening so far:_

Snape used a time-turner given to him by Albus to go back and teach the week he missed while he was in the hospital wing recovering from his ordeal with Voldemort. Unbeknownst to Albus, he makes a detour and goes back to see himself after he returns from Voldemort's torture. He is shocked by the horrible shape he was in but much more by the way Albus cared for him, not to mention the fact that in his delirium, Snape confessed his love for Albus.

After attending dinner in the great hall, where Albus and Minerva see time-turner Severus for the first time, Snape follows the pair. There he sees Dumbledore preparing to enter his infirmed counterpart's mind to awaken him from his coma. Snape reels (and is still reeling) from the realization that it was Dumbledore who saved him from death.

In the last chapter, Snape returned from a 3 day revel and Albus found him sitting in the mud in a downpour. Dumbledore managed to alleviate Severus's depression and anger by joining him in the muck.

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**Unexpected Grace **

by **CocoaSnape**

**Chapter 15: Never the same**

There was no rainstorm on this night, but if there had been, Snape might have very well found himself wallowing in the mud once more. He made his way hastily past the main gate and towards the castle entrance and realized that despite his misery, tonight had in fact been the polar opposite of four nights prior. That had been a revel lasting three days; this was a personal summons from the monster himself and had lasted no more than an hour. Nothing out of the ordinary, at least at first. There had been no threats, no promise of pain, no Cruciatus, and yet Snape felt more broken than he had in a long time.

It had all started when the Dark Lord had mentioned another revel planned for the upcoming weekend. Snape's stomach had turned at the very prospect, having barely shaken the last out of his mind, not to mention the awkwardness of explaining his extended stay at Malfoy Manor to Albus. He had seized on this idea.

"I am honored by the invitation, my Lord. I do worry, however, about my frequent absences being conspicuous. Dumbledore did seem to notice the last."

Per usual, the Dark Lord leveled a harsh stare at him, not hiding his clear intent on reading him. It seemed that a long minute or two passed before the snake-like nostrils flared and he issued a pensive reply. "The old man does seem to keep a close eye on you. You've mentioned that before."

"Yes, my Lord. It is obnoxious to say the least," Snape responded, disdain dripping from his voice.

Snape could all but see the evil machinations twisting behind those ghastly red eyes.

"And you attend all the faculty meetings?" the Dark Lord probed. "You have access to his office and chambers, don't you?"

"The same access as the rest of the staff, my Lord," Snape responded immediately. He was purposely hedging against impossible expectations. He could foresee where this might be going, and if the Dark Lord really believed he had the capacity to go through Dumbledore's things and steal something of importance, he had to be sure to make it clear that that would be impossible.

"Nevertheless, it seems that that old fool is finally beginning to trust you." A pause. "I believe we can use this to our advantage, Severus. I have a mission for you, my servant."

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It was anything but easy seeing Albus this evening. Snape's first order of business had been assuring his friend that he was unharmed, and only after that had they moved to the formal space of Dumbledore's office, sitting across the desk from one another. As was their custom, he began the task of meticulously relaying every detail of what had happened in his meeting with the Dark Lord. Except this time with an omission.

Point in fact, Snape told Dumbledore everything, except perhaps the most crucial thing, the reason the Dark Lord had summoned him there in the first place. On some level he knew he was breaking the rules and, more importantly, breaking Albus's trust by not telling him the whole truth. But he could not bring himself to reveal something that he knew in the larger scheme of things would be of little consequence to his mission as a spy.

If Snape could be certain of anything, it was that the Dark Lord was fickle as he was vile, changing his mind about missions on a whim. It wouldn't be long before this ridiculous plan too was abandoned, and he was instructed to abort this drastic course of action at Hogwarts, one that Snape never intended on undertaking in the first place.

But above all else, the primary reason Snape was unwilling and unable to discuss this 'mission' with Albus was because he knew without a shadow of a doubt that the moment he did, every conversation from now until the end would be about _this_. There was the Dark Lord again, dominating what little time he had with Albus. Despite his crippling injuries of some weeks ago, he had enjoyed these past months spent with Albus more than any he could remember in his life. And with still two months of summer remaining, he wanted every moment of Albus's attention to himself, without the Dark Lord's contemptible schemes clouding their time together. It may have been selfish, Snape knew, but to him, it was self-preservation.

As if on cue, there was Dumbledore keenly prodding him on his recounting of events, implicitly aware that something didn't quite make sense, that there had been something else.

"And that was all, Severus?" Dumbledore asked gently, his head quirked to the side and a curious expression on his face.

"For the most part," Snape answered evasively.

Dumbledore seemed to study him for a second too long before prompting further, "He didn't say anything else?"

Snape took a breath. "Well, he expressed his… pleasure," Snape said with a grimace, "that I stayed at Hogwarts as his spy. That I delayed returning to him that night in order to secure my position here."

"Hmm, now that's very interesting."

"Yes, well, he seemed impressed with my foresight. And so it seems that after all that has happened, he is satisfied with me, at least for the moment."

Dumbledore stared intently at the tips of his fingers, steepled together, a sign that he was deep in thought. It was barely a moment later before Dumbledore proposed an incredibly insightful theory. "He's going to ask something of you, Severus. Why else would he be glad you're still here? He'll want you to do something. Don't you think?"

"Perhaps," Snape replied slowly, panic rising in his chest at Dumbledore's perceptiveness. "I had considered that," he said, doing his level best to control his expression. For little did Albus know that the Dark Lord had not only already asked, he'd ordered.

"Although what I cannot be sure what that might be," Dumbledore continued pensively. "Let me think on it."

_Bloody hell! _Leave it to Albus to figure it out on his own!

Snape nervously played with the cuff on his sleeve, eyeing the man across from him who was completely absorbed in his thoughts at the moment.

It was nearly a minute later before Dumbledore spoke again. "Perhaps it's as simple as you gathering information for him about the Order. He might believe you're beginning to gain my trust and with it, access to more information." Snape tugged at his collar. He hoped Albus would end these speculations now before he solved this entire riddle. But Dumbledore was undeterred, rattling off potential scenarios. "It may involve you compromising the wards, or perhaps learning about the details of their structure from me. Or this may have to do with Harry in some way, his connection to the prophecy, although I can't imagine how. Or perhaps this is as simple as getting to me. Hmm…" As Dumbledore considered all he'd said and thought, Snape winced, desperately wishing Albus would stop talking. After a moment, the Headmaster snapped out of his reverie and turned his attention back to his friend. "But I think we will not have to worry about such obvious maneuvers in the now. It unlikely given his underground state that Voldemort will compromise that for any overt assault."

"I agree," Snape said, inexplicably relieved the guessing game was over. Feeling incredibly uncomfortable, his stomach burning from the guilt of the secret he was keeping, he made to leave.

As he stood, Dumbledore spoke softly, "Are you leaving so soon? Would you mind staying a moment longer?"

"Is there something else?"

"Actually there is," Dumbledore said heavily. In a moment of panic, Snape half-thought Dumbledore had figured it out. Anticipating a reprimand, he was surprised to hear Dumbledore's next words. "I owe you an apology, dear boy."

"What for?"

Dumbledore's voice was low and serious, his sense of remorsepalpable. "For your having to continue with this ordeal. I promised you years ago that I would keep you safe from him and I have betrayed that oath."

The words were met with a flurry of impatience from the younger wizard. "Must we go over this again? These are times of war, not to mention that we've discussed this endless times. We both want him dead, and you know more than anyone how much I want to be a part of seeing that happen."

"Nevertheless—"

"Albus, please stop," Snape interrupted sharply, a tinge of annoyance in his voice. "This was our deal."

"No, my boy. You are wrong there. You fulfilled the obligations of that deal thirteen years ago. You owe me nothing, Severus."

_Just my life 10 times over. And here I am lying to you._

"In fact," Dumbledore continued solemnly, "it is I that owe you the debt."

"Don't be ridiculous," Snape snapped, growing intensely irritated with Dumbledore for his self-condemnation. Albus had done more for him than he could have ever expected over the years, not the least of which had occurred in the hospital wing just a few weeks ago.

An onslaught of images of himself in that hospital bed flooded his mind – retching, shaking uncontrollably, with Albus holding him, whispering comforting words, doing everything conceivable to minimize his pain. And here was Albus talking about debts being owed. It was _he_ who owed the debt. That thought gave Snape pause. A sudden sadness overwhelmed him as he realized that Albus would never know how profoundly grateful he was to him. How could he if he'd never spoken of it? Sadness morphed into anger. He'd made a resolution to himself that he'd never tell Albus what he'd seen when using the time turner. It had seemed impossible to do anything but forget that horrible night – the very thought of how weak and pathetic he'd been brought on waves of shame and self-loathing. The idea of mentioning it to Albus had seemed unthinkable. But now, this self imposed silence felt incredibly selfish, and bordered on sinful. He seized on his remaining courage and spoke hurriedly before it left him.

"There is something I've been meaning to say to you, Albus," Snape said, the tension tightening every muscle in his body. "I suppose now is as a good a time as any." Dumbledore was eying him curiously, and for his own part, Snape made a point of reinforcing his mental walls before he spoke further. He couldn't risk Albus caching a glimpse of any strayemotions. He continued somewhat dumbly, "I… well, I wanted to thank you for taking care of me after…"

It was a moment before the elder wizard interpreted Severus's silence as having been unable to finish. "The thank you is unnecessary," Dumbledore replied nonchalantly, "but I believe you've already thanked me once before, Severus."

A steeling breath before he managed to continue. "No. I mean yes," he corrected himself awkwardly. "But not for…" He stopped again, but this time forced himself to blurt out the truth in a rush of words. "I know it's against the rules but I couldn't resist looking in on myself that week and I saw you."

Dumbledore managed to force back the surprise from his face as his mind raced to understand what it was exactly that Severus was telling him. He'd gone back with the time turner. But surely not far enough to see what he thought Severus might be alluding to? But what else could he mean?

Dumbledore's face was a blank slate, and Snape could not discern what he was thinking. A moment later, the elder wizard spoke.

"You went back an extra few days?"

"I was curious," Snape confessed.

"I see," Dumbledore said flatly, his tone unreadable.

Snape's discomfort magnified exponentially and he cursed himself for ever bringing this up. His memories of the shame he'd felt when he'd first seen that night resurged. It was all he could do not to bolt from the room.

Dumbledore's mind was a flurry of thought and analysis. Like hundreds of puzzle pieces suddenly falling into place, Severus going back to see this answered a lot of questions. It explained a lot – namely Severus's discomfort around him for the past weeks. Thinking back on it, in fact, he could pinpoint the moment it started, the moment he'd returned from the time turner.

Dumbledore had been relieved that Severus had retained no memories of that time, and it seemed he'd been right in assuming that it would make Severus uncomfortable. He remembered how jumpy Severus had been seemed whenever he'd touched him, whether it was the back massage or even something as simple as a friendly pat on the shoulder. He'd thought nothing of it at the time, dismissing those moments as figments of his imagination. Now it made sense, although that understanding only elevated the strain between them.

He wondered what precisely Severus had seen from that night that had disturbed him so. Had he seen himself being cradled in his arms? He knew that Severus had something of an aversion to physical contact and affection – he might have been embarrassed by his weakened condition. That possibility seemed ridiculous. As he searched his mind for another explanation, the one that came to him left him in panic.

Perhaps, Dumbledore thought, Severus had misperceived his intentions that night, believing that his physical proximity to Severus's incapacitated form had been an inappropriate gesture. The more he considered it from Severus's point of view, the more Dumbledore conceded that in some way it had been. It certainly had been an unorthodox response on his part – that had been clear enough from Poppy's reaction alone, but his only thought that night had been helping Severus through that grueling time. Dumbledore's stomach twisted in a knot as the very notion that Severus might have mistook his attempts at comfort for something untoward. But then again, little else could adequately explain the awkwardness he'd been sensing between them.

Now the question was what to do about it? Leaving things unsaid would preserve the status quo, which clearly wasn't the best option. Would it be better to explain his actions and risk making Severus even more uncomfortable? Or would it be best to leave things be?

As the awkward silence loomed between them, Snape took in the look of profound discomfort suddenly gracing Albus's countenance. He cursed himself once more for mentioning the time turner. His throat felt incredibly dry and it seemed to be becoming harder to breathe by the minute. He needed to get out of here.

Snape stood abruptly and said, "Perhaps this isn't the best time to discuss this." He turned to go, but before he could take a step, Dumbledore's voice halted him.

"I think it would be best if we discussed this now."

It was a trademark of Albus, to want to talk, but even as he said it, Snape could detect the hesitancy in Albus's eyes. Snape didn't need another excuse.

"Actually, Albus, it's been a long night, and—"

"Please, Severus," Dumbledore insisted gently, gesturing towards his sitting room. "Come and have a cup with me."

Snape glanced in the sitting room's general direction and his body rebelled at the very thought of what discussion might accompany that harmless cup of tea. But being unable to deny Albus's request, he simply nodded and entered the sitting room first, taking his usual seat on the red sofa, eyeing the ready teapot. As Albus reached for the teacup, he must have read his mood or the involuntary expression of distaste on his face because Albus instantly transfigured it into a crystal tumbler. He pulled a glass decanter full of amber liquid from the side cupboard

Snape's eyebrows went up, but he did not complain. A drink sounded absurdly good right now. Dumbledore waved his hand and two ice cubes appeared over the glass dangling in the air.

"How do you take it?"

Severus shook his head. "Neat." The ice promptly disappeared and Dumbledore handed him the tumbler, which held a healthy amount of liquid. As the elder wizard poured himself a cup of tea, Snape took a sip and found the cognac smooth and rich, one of the most expensive he'd ever tasted.

The silence stretched between them and Snape could tell that Albus was thinking carefully about his next words.

Finally, Dumbledore asked carefully, "May I ask exactly what it is that you saw?"

Snape's skin prickled hot all over. Here they were, getting to the nitty-gritty of it, and once again he wished he could take back his earlier admission. But honesty filtered through his embarrassment and he managed a garbled, "Everything."

"I see." The same short response. It did not bode well for Albus's mental state, but Severus didn't need that to judge his mood. Point in fact, he'd never seen Dumbledore so visibly disturbed before. He looked slightly ashenand that thought caused his own anxiety to heighten. He took two large gulps of the cognac, grateful for how easily it went down while simultaneously regretting wasting its luxury on such an occasion.

Although his glass wasn't yet empty, Dumbledore lifted the decanter and offered him a refill, which he gratefully accepted. To his surprise, Dumbledore then filled his own tea cup, half full with tea, with the cognac to the top and drank it down. Snape's eyes widened in shock at the sight and he jolted involuntarily, his mind fighting against the dissonant image of Albus indulging in such a way. Although perhaps indulging was the wrong word – coping was probably closer to the mark.

The longest silence yet of the night stretched on, dragging on between them interminably as each man was lost in their thoughts, regrets and anxieties.

Severus's guilt spiraled out of control as he lost himself in the painful imagery of Dumbledore pacing about his room frantically as he himself shouted hateful words for sending him back. It was no wonder Albus had not mentioned that night to him before; everything about it was positively mortifying to recall. His resentful tone and rage towards Albus, and on the opposite side, his confession of love. Studying Albus's countenance, it seemed that his own inner turmoil was reflected there.

"I want you to know there were things I said that I didn't mean," Snape said abruptly, desperate to make things right between them again.

A stab straight through Dumbledore's heart. So many possibilities about what Severus might mean, but in that moment only the most painful resonated in his mind, and the fact that although it had been self-evident, Severus had felt it necessary to make sure he understood that his words of endearment were not true. Perhaps Severus felt the clarification was necessary to prevent Dumbledore from propositioning him. Dumbledore chest constricted painfully at the thought.

Severus was still speaking, trying to explain, but doing it badly. "I was not myself. I was..."

"Of course, I understand, Severus," Dumbledore offered kindly, his voice genial and full of understanding doing his level best to hide the crushing disappointment from his voice. "You were delirious. You need not explain any more."

Snape closed his eyes, steeling him against the meaning of Albus's words. And he found himself simultaneously hoping and dreading that Albus would understand that he that he'd meant every word of those spoken endearments that night, most especially those critical three words. But he couldn't bring himself to say it; it was too great a risk revealing so much. He'd revealed far too much already.

The thought brought on a sudden wave of uneasiness in him as he remembered all that Albus had done for him. How he'd spent that week of his unconsciousness, and the many more following, tending to his needs. His emotions were in uproar – a mixture of overwhelming gratitude and burdening shame. If only it had never happened. If only he'd never seen it. If only Albus hadn't been there to hear him say those horrible things.

"You needn't have stayed, Albus," he found himself whispering softly, not even fully aware he was speaking his thought aloud.

'_Do you wish I hadn't?'_ The question burned Dumbledore's brain, but he did not voice it. Instead, he returned Severus's gaze with an intensity he was sure the younger man had seldom ever seen on him before and said simply, "Of course I needed to stay."

Snape lowered his eyes from Albus's penetrating gaze and took a long sip of his drink before waving his hands in the air, trying to dispel the nervous tension that had taken hostage of this conversation. "Everything turned out alright in the end, Albus. You needn't have felt guilty for anything."

"Guilt, Severus?" Dumbledore asked incredulously. Was that truly why Severus believed he had cared for him that night?

Dumbledore eyed Severus for a very long moment and wondered how earth the man in front of him, one of the most complicated he'd ever met, could possibly reduce all that he'd felt down to one emotion. And such an uncomplicated one at that. "The burden of sending you back to him is something I will carry forever, Severus," Dumbledore said, leaning forward in his chair. "But guilt had nothing to do with why I stayed with you," he added, feeling as forlorn as he did relieved at Severus's confused expression.

He filled his empty teacup with a second helping of cognac and wished he had the strength to finish his thought. '_I wouldn't have left your side for anything. And if I could have traded places you, taken away your pain, I would have… in a heartbeat.'_

All of it, left unsaid. His eyes pleaded with Severus to understand, imploring him to listen to his hidden thoughts. _Ask me why I stayed and why I held you in my arms. Ask, and I'll tell you everything!_

But Severus did not ask.

Another minute of silence passed before Snape spoke again, attempting a nonchalant mood. "Well, I… I just wanted to thank you… for taking care of me that night." The words felt so hollow in his mouth even as he spoke them, and he cursed himself for sounding so trite, so emotionless, so unlike the way he felt in that moment.

"No thanks are needed, my boy."

"And I'm sorry for…" He stopped. What to say? I'm sorry for telling you I hated you for sending me back. I'm sorry for acting like a weak fool. I'm sorry for bringing such shame to myself it's making you uncomfortable. I'm sorry for begging you to hold me (even though I'm so glad you did). I'm sorry I told you I love you and now you can't even look at me without paling. "I'm just sorry for the trouble."

Dumbledore sighed heavily, frustrated with Severus's repeated apologies. "It was no trouble, Severus," he said heavily.

"It's late, Albus. I should go." Snape stood, moving his hands awkwardly at his sides before settling on smoothing down the wrinkles in his robe. The awkwardness between them had grown to almost beyond the point of tolerability and he had to leave. Originally he'd thought that he could have tried to continue their friendship despite Albus's discomfort. But it appeared that Albus was more overwhelmed by the events of that night than he'd imagined. Not to mention that his own discomfort was intolerable with the Dark Lord's vile voice ringing in his brain, plans he could not bring himself to confide in anyone, not even Albus, the one man he was obliged to tell.

He considered telling Albus he'd not be coming around anymore because of the Dark Lord. It was true in a way. But he knew that Dumbledore wouldn't allow it. He'd already done his best to draw him out, to keep him from closing off. So instead, he went with a standard excuse, once that Albus could easily believe.

"Now that the summer's underway," Snape said, his voice suddenly cold and professional, "There are several research projects I'd like to pursue."

"Hmm." Dumbledore could see where this was going, but if this is what Severus wanted, he played along dutifully. "Anything I know about?"

"I don't think so," Snape replied evasively. "I expect I'll be very busy."

Dumbledore's throat swelled even though the words were not unexpected. He was losing him. He was losing Severus. And if he could have, he would have said anything in that moment to stop it from happening. "Of course," he said, trying desperately to hold back the looming sadness. "I understand, Severus," he finished, knowing he was giving Severus what he wanted, space away from him. However much he hated it, he hated more that he was the cause of the palpable tension between them.

"Well then, goodnight, Headmaster."

Snape turned sharply and began heading for the door.

"Goodnight, Severus," Dumbledore said softly, unable to prevent his voice from shaking slightly as he spoke.

Snape stopped suddenly at the door, his back to Dumbledore. He wasn't sure why it was that his feet felt suddenly glued to the floor, whether it something he'd heard in Albus's voice, or simply the burning in his chest that had by now intensified to the point of agony. But he couldn't leave. Not yet.

Dumbledore found himself clutching his teacup tightly in his hand, overcome with anxiety as he eyed Severus standing there in silence as if frozen. He could see the tension in his friend's hands as they clenched perceptibly and he found himself dreading whatever it was Severus was going to say. The moment stretched and the tension grew and when it was well past a minute, Dumbledore realized that he must have been mistaken and that Severus was probably waiting for him to say something. Waiting for him to apologize for what had happened. To apologize for invading his personal space when he was incapacitated. There was no doubt in his mind that he would apologize – he would do anything to mend this rift between them. But just as he opened his mouth to issue an apology, Severus spoke, his back still facing Dumbledore.

"You should know, Albus," Snape began, his voice full of sudden strength, masking the trembling of his insides. "You saved me… once again."

Dumbledore was stunned by the intensity of Severus's words**.** Struggling for words, he asked, "What are you talking about?"

A cold shiver passed through him and suddenly the need to confess, at least this one thing, to the most important person in his life was consuming him. There was no turning back. Slowly, Snape turned to face Albus, and began tentatively, "I don't know if you know. _I_ didn't know it for a long time." Despite the fact that his voice was soft, he could tell it was wavering.

"I went back and saw you entering my mind." A beat as he struggled to control his emotions. "I didn't know it was you then, but I should have…" His voice cracked; he couldn't help it and he tried fervently to swallow the lump in his throat. "I know now."

Dumbledore's mind frantically processed the meaning of what Severus was telling him. He'd never known if his efforts that night had done anything to impact Severus's recovery. He'd never known if it been his entering his mind or a simple coincidence that he awoke the very next day.

"I confess I… I was ready to…" Snape paused, his voice unmistakably thick with emotion. He covered his face with his hand as he struggled to will his tears back into his eyes and dropped his gaze to the floor. "I was ready to go, ready for it all to end. You were right. I'd given up," Snape said, still looking down. "But something stopped me. I heard a voice… your voice."

A brief pause and then Snape looked up, meeting Albus's eyes fully with his own for the first time. "And it brought me back," Snape said, his voice hitching with emotion. "And it… and _you_… you made me want to live again."

Dumbledore was paralyzed where he stood, rendered completely breathless by the sudden openness in Severus's eyes. It was something he'd rarely seen, Severus deliberately showing him the absolute truth of his words in his eyes. He saw it all there, how his voice had brought him back, his gratitude and a devastating desire to show the truth. It was beautiful. And Dumbledore was left stunned and awed by the moment, taking in every single second of this rare gift.

And then as suddenly as it all had appeared, it was gone the next instant, and over Severus's eyes, the familiar mask slipped back into place.

"I just thought you should know that," Snape finished, his voice suddenly flat and firmly controlled. So much so that it was almost as though he'd imagined all that emotion of a moment ago.

Just as Dumbledore struggled for something to say, for an appropriate response to all this knowledge, Severus interrupted his attempt with an almost cold voice, filled with cold finality. "Goodnight, Albus."

Severus headed for the door and was gone in an instant, leaving Dumbledore with a tear sliding down his cheek and the tacit knowledge that things would never be the same between them again.

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_Author's note:_ Thank you everyone for your support and patience! Your enthusiasm and support is appreciated.

Thank you very much to my beta for this chapter, Snape's Nightie.

I anxiously await your comments. xx


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